


I Am A Beast

by WeWillForeverBeYoung



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Broken Barriers, Comforting John, Drug Abuse, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mystrade, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Mild Mary Bashing, Mycroft's Miracles, POV Sherlock Holmes, Plotting Murder, Protective Mycroft, Self-Hatred, Sherlock is Breaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4076509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeWillForeverBeYoung/pseuds/WeWillForeverBeYoung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock... Look at me. Please."</p><p>Sherlock is at odds with trying to control his sentiment and his rampaging thoughts, so he resorts to the first thing that comes to his mind in order to calm himself. Luckily, a brave blonde is willing to step up and save Sherlock from himself and give him the care he needs. </p><p>Rated for moderately graphic scenes of withdrawal, high levels of angst, and possible violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Madame That Came for the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own BBC Sherlock. This is a work of fanficiton.
> 
> If you are uneasy about angst or reading about your beloved characters going through both rough physical and emotional times, I recommend that you refrain from reading this. 
> 
> But if you do enjoy that sort of thing, I hope you enjoy my work. 
> 
> Thank you.  
> (And... hi mom!)

Because I had not resorted to this method in what feels like eons, I felt a sharp pinch as I injected the needle into the underside of my arm. It had been over a decade since I had spent a dark night alone with Madame “China White”; despite all of the sentimental, illogical trash that had floated into my head, I had managed to abstain from engaging in old habits, a safe way to refer to my… more human side. I had tossed all of those years of cleanliness away.

Do not ask me why, for I did not explicitly have a reason for venturing back into dealer territory, searching out the “friends” of my youth, and buying enough heroin for at least two, exceptionally small shots. My thoughts had become increasingly jumbled and dangerously conflicting. There had not been a case that could be considered more than a five in weeks, so this- episode was the only stimulation that was readily available and gave me the rush I so desperately needed. Trust me; the drug that was making its way through my veins was the only thing that was keeping me sane enough to think clearly, though the intended effects of the drug is to make everything slow. I was no exception to this intention, and my sentiments still waged their war on my mind.

I was sprawled out on the couch in the living room of my flat. My legs were resting on the back and the arm rest of the couch, but I could not feel them, for I could not feel anything. My arms felt like they had transformed into wings, and I felt like I was flying through the sky outside the window nearby. My vision was blurry, and I saw the world around me as though it was underwater. I figured out that my lips had stretched into a sad smile somewhere during the drug’s effect. But the best part about that moment of bliss was that the maggot of sadness that had been burrowing its way through my chest ever since I returned to London was gone; instead, my chest felt as though someone was rubbing circles upon it, as if to rub away all of the pain that had been plaguing it.

The syringe was still in my hand. My sleeve was still rolled up. I had no reason nor resolve to hide anything at the moment. That sort of stress would only soil the peace that I have been blessed with. No, I wanted to savor it, though I really had no right to savor this experience nor the ones I had with people like John, who truly mattered to me. I saw the monster when I looked into the mirror, and I knew that someone in supposed “up above” must have felt some sort of pity towards me. I despised being pitied, but this was amazing…

I chuckled. “Oh, Madame,” I said. “You’ve rescued me again. Truly, will there ever be a day when you won’t find me in the troubled waters?”

A drop of sweat rolled down the side of my face, and a chill was sent down my spine. I knew my limitations, even after all these years, and I was sure, when I purchased my special friend, to get an amount that would put me at a small risk for an overdose. It was a shame that my flight could for due to the precarious workings of my transport. But, I supposed it was only right that the universe rob me of the little flight that I was allowed.

It was then that I looked at my mobile. In my flight, I had missed four texts and a call from John, and judging by the time signature on the last text he sent me, _“I’m coming over there right now-JW,”_  and the latest weather forecast along with its effect on the traffic, John was due to show up in my flat at any…

The sound of footsteps caused my stomach to knot. I really began to regret letting John keep his key to the flat, even though he was probably the only human that could have been able to effectively console me at the time. Deep down, there was a part of me that wanted him to witness me being high on the couch that we used to sit on together. I wanted to confess everything to him, and I wanted him to shield me from the darkness that had crept into my Mind Palace ever since he left. I knew the way karma worked, but I still hoped for some comfort from him.

“Sherlock?” John called.

“I’m here,” I managed. My throat had become dry.

He walked into the flat, and his eyes immediately found my own. He saw the syringe, and a look of disappointment and worry spread across his face. It was then that I felt like I wanted to die out of shame.

“I’m still alive,” I began. “There’s no need to call anyone. I can-“

John rushed over to where I was. He snatched the needle from my hand and grabbed the open goodie bag nearby. He then proceeded to shove it in my face, nearly two inches from my eyes, by my estimate.

“Is this all of it?” John asked. He had employed his “captain-voice.”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said in almost a whisper. “That’s all I bought.”

“Get up!” he yelled, and I could not come up with a witty and sarcastic response at the time, so the only thing I could do was obey. He made a motion for me to follow him.

I followed him into the bathroom. I wanted to object to what I knew John was about to do, but the withdrawal symptoms were already setting in, and though using another shot would ease them, I felt utterly defenseless.

“I won’t tell Greg,” he said. “And I’m not going to bring your brother into this unless I feel he is needed.”

“John-“

“I don’t want to hear it, Sherlock.” His eyes burned into mine. He set the bag on the edge of the sink and his hands on his hips. “I don’t want to hear some excuse you pulled out of your ass to make me leave you alone.”

John sighed and lifted up the toilet seat. “I know how you think, Sherlock. And though your actions have utterly scared me beyond your comprehension, what I witnessed just now, as worried as it made me, did not come as a surprise.”

I did not look at him. I wanted to do anything but see his face, specifically those greyish-blue orbs of light. I could feel tears welling-up in my eyes. I must have looked so pathetic.

“Sherlock… Look at me. Please.”

My head was so heavy with shame that I could not bear to lift it. Something was different now; the withdrawal was not affecting anything, for I could still be my normal, cocky self while my transport begged for more illegal substances. Something was not working right, and I lied to myself; I told my brain that it must have been the amount of heroin and the span of time between my last hit and this one. In a way, that was a half-truth, which was good enough for me considering the circumstances.

John took a step forward and placed his hands on my cheeks. “Sherlock,” he said. “I know you feel like crap, but still, look at me.”

I did not feel my head move, but somehow, our eyes locked together; my sentiments dared me to do the righteous thing and flee from his grasp and tell him to leave… to return to his place among the angels.

“You do not have to resort to this,” he said. His thumb began to stoke my right cheek. “There is no reason for this reaction. I know you have an extreme level of difficulty getting this into your head, but there are so many people who could have helped you avoid this-this-“ He looked at the heroin on the sink, as if it were magically going to tell him how to state the nature of its existence lightly. “There has never been any need for these sort of danger nights. Especially not if I’m around.”

 _But that’s where you are wrong,_ I thought. _You are no longer around to see how suffocated I can become on nights like these._

He sighed. “I will be staying here until the withdrawal symptoms pass. You already know that they are about to come, and they will not be merciful. You have awakened a beast inside of you, Sherlock. You have strengthened the temptations that have plagued you all of these years.”

“But-“I began. _The beast has been here all along._ I had never been so unintentionally speechless in my entire life, and I began to wonder if that was a good thing, considering the watchful eye that my actions bestowed upon me. Not that I minded John’s eyes…

John grabbed the plastic bag and dumped its contents into the toilet. He flushed the drug down the drain and said, “I will be staying in my room upstairs.”

~

After a silent cup of tea in the living room with John, I told him I was retiring to my bedroom.  He demanded that I leave my door open, for he decided that he was going to stay awake longer in case I needed him. I assured him that I would be fine, although I did a poor job at doing it, and I doubt I was even successful at all, since I was not sure myself that I was going to get any sleep at all.

To be honest, even with the withdrawal raging in my system where only an hour before there had been illegal drugs, I still felt calm with John so close by. I could hear the crap telly he was watching. I could hear him sigh as he shifted in his seat. I could even hear him sip his tea. (My sight is not the only sense that I have worked tirelessly to improve).

I tossed and turned beneath the bedclothes, trying to ease the ache that had consumed my body and to find a spot on the mattress that had not come into contact with my sweat. I knew there was no way I was going to get any sleep that night, and as I writhed (and occasionally moaned) in the beginning stages of complete agony, I considered calling John and asking him to sit with me for a while.

I thought maybe, if he held onto my hands long enough, that they would stop shaking and that it would have the same effect on the rest of my transport. I was aware that it was a strange, sentimental, and far-fetched notion, but I was very close to trying it out. In all honesty, I caught myself many times searching for out-of-the-normal withdrawal symptoms that were serious enough to call for John’s help as I lay in pain.

It was a while before he turned off the telly and all of the lights. I heard his footsteps grow fainter, and soon I stopped listening for them.  I instantly regretted not calling for him. In the silence and the darkness of my bedroom, I placed my trembling hands over my eyes and let the barriers down.

By my calculations, I laid on my back and cried for somewhere in the realm of five minutes and thirty seconds. As each minute progressed, my cries began to get louder and louder until I finally had to turn over and cry into my pillow to avoid disturbing John.

The voices of my subconscious scrutinized me for being so weak and for taking advantage of John’s kindness to such an extent. I had made him put up with all of my extravagant cases and experiments, grieve for me, and fall back into my life all over again. He should have been at home with his wife, not here with scum such as I. But there was no longer any slight distraction from my thoughts, for the only one that I had left had been-

A hand touched my shoulder. I lifted my head up out of my pillow.

“John-“

“I think we’re both glad I decided to stick around before heading upstairs.”

He grabbed my right hand and held it firmly. I sniffled as he sat on the bed beside me. His free hand wiped the tears from my eyes. John then raised my hand up to his face, and even in the dark, I could see just how badly they were shaking.

“Oh, Sherlock,” he whispers. “The worst of it is yet to come, you know that?”

“I know,” I said softly. “It’s nothing I haven’t suffered through before.”

“I’m not leaving you alone while you’re in this state,” he replied.

 _But you will when the withdrawal ends,_ I thought. _And the vicious cycle is apt to repeat, as soon as you get some peace._


	2. A Study in Self-Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit shorter than the last one, but this one really focuses on Sherlock's mentality. I apologize for any OOCness, but this story does not exactly follow the strict rules of the canon, as you may have noticed. 
> 
> I promise Chapter 3 will be much longer and will include the graphic details that I mentioned. 
> 
> I do not own BBC Sherlock.
> 
> Thank you.

**_The breeze felt soft against my face. Between the rips in the fabric of the blanket of grey clouds, the sun’s radiance peeked through and made its way to the ground. The civilians of London decided to enjoy the break from the regular English weather and had taken to running their errands, taking strolls, or simply sitting on a bench to soak up the sun. It was a shame that such a beautiful day had to become tarnished with a dramatic twist in the sadistic game he and the consulting criminal both partook in._ **

“Sherlock… Sherlock!”

**_“Well, good luck with that!” Jim Moriarty exclaimed with a smile. His smile widened as he shoved the gun into his mouth; he seemed to be proud that he was dying, for it was by way of his death that Jim gained full control over me. I myself stepped backwards, shocked._ **

“No…. No, please! I don’t want them to die!”

“Sherlock, listen to me!”

**_Blood trickled out of the wound in Jim’s head; a river of human fluid had formed right there on the roof of St. Bart’s.  My fingers instinctively flew into my curls and tugged on them. My path forward had been made very clear. I just hoped this plan worked, and I hoped they actually believed the ruse…_ **

“I’m falling… I really am going to die!”

**_I had never been so scared of heights, but standing on that ledge, I realized just how tall of a building St. Bart’s was and how great the possibility was that I was not going to walk away from this fall. For once in my career as a consulting detective, I did not have to summon the might to cause tears to fall. They fell freely from my eyes._ **

**_I hung up on John, for I had neither the time to keep talking nor the will to tell that honest soul any more lies. Jim had already taken care of enough of the lies, and now it was time for me to put his sadistic fairy tale to a close with twists of my own. I really hated that John, of all people, had to be sucked up into this charade of murder._ **

**_I decided it would be easier if I made it quick. My heart pounded in my ears, and my chest began to ache, for I hated myself for what I had to do, since this whole dilemma could have been avoided if I had only observed harder and researched faster. I lifted my arms and fell forward. I did not view myself as falling towards the ground, but instead, the ground decided to rise and meet me._ **

I could see a blurred image of John’s figure. He was looming over me, obviously concerned. Somehow, I ended up on my back on the floor.

**_The participants hurried over. The plan had worked, and I had landed on the ground safely, though at a great cost. I made a vow to thank Molly the next time I saw her, which I realized might not ever happen._ **

“Sherlock, can you hear me?”

I blinked rapidly, and the image of John began to clear as well as my muffled hearing. John was holding my wrists by my head. He looked sweaty, exhausted, and worried.

“What…” I managed between gasps of air. I was a filthy mess myself.

“Shh.” John’s hand moved to my cheeks. “Take a deep breath.”

John breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, and I imitated him without rolling my eyes. It was then that I noticed that I was shaking with more intensity than before, than was normal of my normal withdrawal. He did it once more, and I copied.  Absentmindedly, I allowed a tear to slip out of my eye while I performed the breathing technique a third time without John’s help. The apparent tension in my muscles began to ease.

John let go of my face, sat back against the wall, and sighed in relief.  I sat up and crossed my legs.

“I thought you were having a seizure,” he whispered. “I’d never seen you in that position before. It wasn’t until you started talking that I realized it was a flashback.”

I gulped. “What did I do?” I asked, sounding more curious than I actually was.

“I was sitting with you on the bed,” John began. “Then, all of sudden, your grip tightened. I asked you what was wrong, but you didn’t answer. That’s when you started shaking, and so I moved you to the floor. I was about to dial nine-nine-nine when you started mumbling. From the subject matter, I assumed you were having a hallucination or were reliving something.”

“That was smart,” I muttered.

He kept going. “I decided it was best to try to hold you down, since you were attempting to cower in the corner and yank at your hair.” He pressed his palms into his eyes and took another deep breath himself. “I’ll be honest with you: I am frightened, Sherlock. Horrified! And it’s mostly because I’ve had no idea that this was going on. And that makes me more of an oblivious idiot than you say I am. Just now, when you were consumed by your vision, you kept talking about how you didn’t want to die, and I’m sorry, but that sets off a lot of alarms in my head that something is seriously wrong with you.

“Your silence this evening has spoken volumes. If this- problem has taken so much control over you as to rob you of your remarks, I-“he pinched the bridge then directed his gaze to my own. “You have got to let me help you… I care about you too much to see you like this, okay?”

“I’m-I’m sorry, John,” I said.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he replied. He paused for a moment in order to think carefully about what to say next. “I just wish you would let me in. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for the people who care about you.”

I did nothing in response except look away.

_Monsters don’t deserve help, especially from people like you, John,_ I thought. _It is much better this way if you leave right now, even if I love it that you are with me again and that you want to keep my demons away… Trust me John, I would rather delete that side of me as well and let you return to your life. I would give anything so that you wouldn’t have to take care of this- thing that I have become._

~

“Ugh.”

The cold, tiled, bathroom floor was not easy on my knees and ankles, but those afflictions were minor, simple nuisances that in no ways compared the ache in my abdomen. With my right arm, I clenched the rim of the loo, and I wrapped my left arm around my lower torso. It made a gurgled noise that echoed off of the close walls of the lavatory, and I laid my head against my right forearm and moaned.

John appeared in the doorway with a glass of water. He set it on the floor next to me, opened the cabinet, found a rag, and proceeded to wet it.

“Bad morning?” he asked. We were both faring equally in terms of sleep, being that neither of us got any.

I groaned. “At least you could hold your morning tea down.”

He turned off the faucet and wrung the rag of any excess water. “I think caffeine is the last thing you need,” he said. “You’re shaking enough as it is.” He folded the rag width-wise twice. “Lift up your head for a moment.”

I did as I was told, even though it did not help to lessen my headache. John wiped all of the sweat from my brow and the snot from my nostrils. As soon as he was done, he set the rag on the edge of the sink, and I returned my head to its position on my arm.

“Call me if you need me,” John said and turned to leave.

“Wait…” I muttered. He stopped and looked at me. “Could you stay and- hold back my hair?”

“Sure,” he replied sincerely.

He walked back over, threaded his fingers through my curls, and pulled them back firmly. Though his fingers felt wonderful against my scalp, I was glad he was not slow about it, for my mouth began to salivate, my heart began to race, and I rose to a position over the loo.

As I violently coughed up bile, which was much to the displeasure of my sides and my throat, I clenched the porcelain rim even tighter. When my body finally allowed me some relief, I flushed the toilet and took a sip from the water John had brought me.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

I grabbed the rag and eased against the wall. “Don’t ask questions with obvious answers, John,” I responded. “It makes the asker appear as an idiot.” I managed a weak smile as I wiped my nose, and he returned it with an even wider, brighter one.

“Ah, it’s comforting to hear that again,” John said. “I never thought I would be happy to hear you say that.”

“Routine is dull, John.”

He laughed, and I relished in the sound, the warmth it created in my chest.

_Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear that laugh every day,_ I thought. _Our minds hold on to strange things, you know, John? I would love to tell you how much I enjoy hearing it, but I keep hoping that the desire to hear you laugh will disappear, just as you will if you ever receive your wish of me confiding in you…_

~

John was talking on the phone with Mary. I was still sitting on the floor next to the loo. My body had not felt the need to empty its contents in almost an hour, and I had sipped on the entire glass of water, much to John’s pleasure. I scrutinized him for it when he commented on the apparent emptiness of the glass, for I always thought he looked… delectable when he got flustered.

“I’m a disgusting pig,” I muttered. “Sucking the life of a person I love. Tell me, John, who does that? A bottom-feeder, that’s who, a man… who gets off on murders…”

I rested my head on my knees. _Damn, Donovan was right,_ I thought. _Maybe I always agreed. Maybe I knew in my subconscious that she was right all along. I’d love to be innocent, even ordinary, John. I could understand then. I wouldn’t have to be a monster- a freak. I could live a life like everyone else._

I heard John tell Mary he loved her, give his goodbyes, and throw his mobile on the table. _But it’s the unfeeling beast that you’re used to, and it’s that very beast that solves all of the problems and that’s actually useful in this world. This is what happens when the emotions come for me, and everyone hates the consequences, especially you, because you’re the one who normally cleans up after my mess._

“I’m making tea!” John called. “Are you feeling up to it?”

“Mmm!” I replied.

_This is the real Sherlock, John. This is what lies beneath the man you call your best friend._

I managed to stand up despite protest from my muscles. _Save yourself, John. Please, hear me out. Get away while you can. Or I’ll hurt you even more._

I walked into the kitchen just as John was putting the kettle on the stove.

“Is Mary alright?” I asked.

“She’s fine,” John answered. “She’s worried about you, yeah.” He opened the cabinet and grabbed two mugs. “She considered coming over here, you know.”

_What is with these humans?_ I thought, hints of desperation lining the voices of my thoughts. _Don’t they know that it’s dangerous and foolish to pet a wild animal?_

“What did you tell her to do?”

He placed a bag of tea in each mug. “I told her it would be best if I handled you as of right now.”

“Good,” I said. _There’s no reason for anyone else to get in harm’s way._

 


	3. "John... Please!" Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I have placed a lot of angst and some disturbing images in this chapter. 
> 
> Once more, I don't own this show.... I just love the characters to a harrowing extent that somehow resulted in the creation of this and other fanfics.
> 
> Thank you.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

_Oh God, will it ever shut up?_

I was lying on the floor in front of my bed. I don’t remember how I got there, but nonetheless, there I was with bent knees and hands over my eyes. I was infuriated; my heartbeat had been echoing in my ears, and I wanted it, along with every other voice that resonated in my mind, to shut the hell up.

I felt as though I was alone, a normal feeling for me, but that afternoon, it felt as though that same loneliness had increased in magnitude and was now looming over my head, a rock that threatened to fall and crush me at any moment. I wondered if it already had.

I removed my hands from my face and stared at the ceiling. My view of it began to blur. Tears were forming in my eyes, and soon I felt their warmth as they made a slat path from the corner of my eyes to the floor. Every bit of my body was in utter protest; there was no limb that did not ache- no motion that did not make my stomach twist and my head pound.

 _Get a hold of yourself, Sherlock,_ I thought. _Breathe in. Breathe out._ As soon as I did, my body was racked with sobs, as though simply letting the pressure in my lungs out allowed for the rest of my body to fight itself with even more force.

 _John,_ I thought. _He can help. He can guide me through this._ I shook my head. _No, I can’t. I can’t put anything else on his shoulders. He’s taking a nap. He needs his rest after all I have put him through._

My stomach churned. The plastic bucket that John had placed in my room was in sight, but I knew I was not going to be able to reach it in time. I could only turn over and prop myself up on my knees in order to prevent from choking on my own vomit. All of the morsels of food John had convinced me to consume (mostly bits of toast, since it the taste was simple enough that it did not overwhelm my head) ended up on the carpet in a pool of yellowish-green bile. The force my body used to rid my stomach of its contents was enough to leave me gasping for air between the coughs that normally came after my stomach had been purged. The stench made me cringe.

 _Pathetic!_ I screamed at myself internally. _Vomiting on the floor like a child…_

I noticed my shirt, which was already drenched in sweat, and instantly felt even more disgusted with myself. It seemed, in my helplessness to give up bile like a person of maturity (which I was never truly sure I was), my shirt had also been covered with my own vomit.

John appeared in the doorway, his hair a mess and his bath robe partially tied. He looked down at the mess I had made and sighed.

_You idiot! You woke him up!_

“I’ll clean it up,” I murmured. “You can return to your room.”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I will handle it. It’s about time for you to have a shower anyway.”

I rolled my eyes and slammed my fist on the floor. I knew it was unlike me, and I was shocked at myself when I realized what I had done, and John even stepped back over the threshold.

“Let me handle it!” I yelled. “Go back to your fucking bed!”

I have always marveled at John’s patience, and this instance was not one where he proceeded without it.  “Sherlock, you are in the toughest part of withdrawal right now,” John said. “I know you’ve gone through this before, and I most certainly am aware of how stubborn you can be, but that does not mean this is going to be easy,” he paused, “or that this has to be something you have to navigate alone.”

“J-Jesus,” I stammered. “Can’t you get it through your head? This is something so small-“

“And it’s a product of a bigger problem,” John interrupted solemnly. “You don’t mean what you’re saying right now. This drug is talking for you. Whatever you are facing has consumed you.

“Now, you are going to stand up, walk into the bathroom, and take a goddamn shower. And you are going to leave that door unlocked so I can get in there easily in case you need me. If, for any reason at all, you need my assistance, you are to scream my name, regardless of what I am doing around the flat.”

He folded his arms. “Am I making myself clear?”

I nodded, and though I was sincerely thankful for what John said he was willing to do for me, I still felt the need to respond with, “That will change before long. It always does.”  (I had also lost my trained reasoning on what I should and should not let people know about; in this case specifically, that involved my ability to keep that damned beast in its cage.)

“Sherlock-“ John started as I pulled myself off of the floor. I brushed past him before he could bother to form the rest of his response to my “mask-slip”.

“We’re addressing that when you get out!” John yelled. “This will be a lot easier if you open up to me. Remember that?”

I slammed the bathroom door, threw open the shower curtain, and yanked on the shower’s water temperature dials. I did remember.

~

The scalding hot water pelted my back. I had been sitting there for a good while, resting my head on the edge of the tub and thinking about what all that drug was doing to me and what it was making me do to John, for I still knew that John had been right, and he began to seem more like a caring genius to me the more I reflected on what he had said over the course of my weakness.

 _He’s right,_ I thought. _I need it. I need it now. All it takes is one shot, and then all of this is going to go away: the aches, the sweat, the vomit, and especially the anger at John._

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

I moaned. “Why won’t it leave me alone?” I was on the verge of tears. The shower head began to hiss as it repeatedly forced more water through its tiny pipes.

A knock came on the bathroom door. “Sherlock, you’ve been in there a while. Can I come in?”

“John… Please!” I lifted up my arm and slid the curtain to the side. The noise did nothing to help my headache.

The door swung open, and cool air along with my former blogger came inside. John shut the door behind him. He decided I was clean enough, or  maybe he thought that my red skin and the water bill could not possibly stand the shower’s continuous pour any longer. Either way, he reached up and turned off both of the nozzles. The water stopped.

“God... John, I can’t… Help me.”

“Alright, Sherlock, alright. Let’s get you out of the shower, yeah?”

I sniffled and sat up. John had already stood up and had grabbed the towel off of the nearby rack. He wrapped it around my waist as soon as I was able to stand up as well, and I grabbed his offered hand when I was stepping over the edge of the tub to keep from slipping.

“Sit down- on the edge,” John said. His voice had become so soothing that I wanted to fall into it, to allow myself to be held by him and him alone, but my acquired, mental mechanisms were ordering me to maintain my expression.

He looked at me with the saddest, most sincere eyes that I ever had the misfortune of coming into contact with. Those greyish-blue orbs had aged again because of me.

“It’s safe,” he said in almost a whisper. “What’s going on?”

I couldn’t help it. I fell apart.

John wrapped his arms around me tightly. I cried into his t-shirt and hugged his waist. He began to rub small circles on the middle of my back, and that caused a cascade of drug and life-induced emotions to break free from the confines of their cells in the dungeon, the one where that damn monster had broken free prior to all of those sentiments I had still managed to keep suppressed. He pressed his face into my wet curls, as if to somehow make me a part of him, as if he knew that he could take care of me more efficiently that way. If that was his notion, then I shared it with him. I so desperately wanted that to happen…

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Let it all out. I know, Sherlock. I know this is difficult.”

“I-I- C-Can’t…” I managed in between hiccups. “I c-can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. I know you can. These first few days are going to be extremely hard, but you can handle it.”

I shook my head. “No.” I sniffled. “I can’t manage without it. It’s just as you predicted. The cravings won’t go away.”

“Sherlock, you know those are never going to go away.” He sighed. “They can change their degree whether or not you stay away from heroin. I have no reason to sugar-coat that for you.”

I removed my face from his shirt and simply rested my head against his torso. “I can’t function. I-there are-Fuck! I thought you were supposed to be helping me! Make this go away!”

He put his hand on the back of my head. “Your body wants heroin, and so do you.” I had a feeling he was about to say something like ‘You don’t want me or my help,’ but he decided against it.

“You’ve got to give me something. I don’t give a damn what it is, but I _need_ it to control myself.  I need to chase this hell away.”

“Why do you need to control yourself?” John asked softly.

I withdrew from John. With my fingertips, I wiped my cheeks of any tears. I took in a deep breath, though it did nothing to bring me calm or ease my sobs. “If you haven’t noticed by now,” I began. “Then you will never understand!” I slid my fingers into my hair and tugged on it. It took a large amount of effort to suppress a scream, one in which I had no clue where it originated from.  “Nobody can help me!”

He raised his hands slightly. “Please, don’t shut down on me, Sherlock. I know talking about such… well, matters related to feelings are hard for you even when you aren’t detoxing, but please, I need to know what’s going on.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders. “I know I’m an idiot compared to you, but I am in no way entirely stupid.”

“I wasn’t implying that!”

“Well, you seem to think that I won’t understand. But I think you should give this old son of a bitch a chance. I promise you I will listen to anything that you have to say.”

“You know I never talk about things of that… nature.”

“And look at what has happened to you because of it.” John ruffled my wet hair.

I looked at the shower head, which was dripping small droplets of water steadily. I had not noticed it until then. With shaky hands, I wiped my eyes once more. “I will tell you. I will tell you someday, and that someday may be sooner than I would prefer if my condition persists any longer than what would be considered normal.”

John sighed in relief. “Thank you, Sherlock.” It was then that I noticed he was crying himself. “I don’t want you to have to relive anything that could prove to be too traumatic for you to handle, and I will move at your pace. Because I know that specific approach will… make things easier for both of us.”

 _You should remain silent,_ I reminded myself. _He’ll say these pretty things now and promise you he’ll always take care of you. But as soon as you show him that little demon, as soon as you show him how disgusting you are, as soon as you prove all of your enemies correct, John will practically fly out of this flat. And if he decides he still wants to be friends with you even after you tell him who you truly are, and how you truly feel, you might not see him again._

_He may be the one thing that truly matters to you, but you are not his sole focus. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts, even if you are in pain…_

“I’ve already cleaned up the mess, just avoid that area on the carpet until the water and the cleaner actually dry,” John stated.  “How about I go and fetch you something comfortable?”

“Thank you,” I muttered. John gave me a pat on the back before he opened the door and left.

I looked at the trash bin sitting next to the loo. My stomach had been churning ever since my outburst of emotion. I had the feeling I was about to vomit, but I never did.

 


	4. "John... Please!" Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... I'm sorry. You are already aware of the dangers of this fanfiction, but still... Be careful.  
>  I do not own BBC Sherlock.  
> Oh, and I may not be able to get another update out until the end of the week due to finals.  
> Thank you for reading.

The bruise on my arm from the injection had begun to turn yellow, though purple speckles still poked through the sea of clammy gold. I decided it would be fun to press that slightly puffy bruise, and I discovered that it did indeed hurt. I realized that I must have been staring at it for longer than what would be considered “normal,” so I quickly set my arm down on and looked at the floor. I thought about turning on the telly to generate some noise in the room.

John was currently engaged with his laptop. As he typed away, completely oblivious to me (or I figured he was), I wondered if today was going to be the day when my weaknesses pushed me beyond my self-control; the end result of that were me confessing to every wave of emotion that plagued me daily.

My head was split between two options regarding that _topic._ My entire mind wanted to believe that John was trustworthy, and John had proven to be the only one in the universe who I could trust and had continued to do so. Yet, the problem also arose with John. I did not know whether I was going to expose myself in a sweaty withdrawal escapade, or if I was going to be open and honest with him; all I knew is that I had promised I would make an attempt to explain myself to him, and I knew it was coming sooner than I would have regulation over.

The aftermath was a grey fog of unknowns. John would never be a part of my life as he was before. I could only quench my lonely thirst by dreaming about the better days, before I was thrust back into the well of sadness that for a lifetime I had been drinking out of. I just did not want to push him away farther than he already was. I knew that one of those unknown outcomes involved him leaving this flat and never associating with me again, and though John would probably never do that to anyone, I did not want to take such a risk, for a change.

Regrettably, I had set the foundation for a lot of this. Honestly, I knew that I had used him for my own purposes many times. I jumped. I dismantled a network. I came back. But most of all, I put him through hell. There was no way our relati- _friendship_ could be one hundred percent restored to its original condition. And it was not as though our friendship was the only relationship that John now had to focus on.

I knew I wanted to see John happy. I had that figured out. After all that John had suffered through, it was only right that he enjoyed rest, though he craved war and excitement.

I got up form my chair, went to the window, eased the curtains aside, and began to watch the pedestrians walking by the flat- a cat-lover on her way to pet store to buy even more mouse toys, an unfaithful school teacher, and a college student rushing to a chemistry lab. All of them happier than I.

“John, “I said. My voice seemed slow, tired.

He stopped typing and looked over at me. “What is it?”

I rested my head against the head; over those two days I had felt the increasing need to rest my head upon something. “Can I ask you something?” I said. “And can I expect an honest answer."

He set his laptop to the side and rubbed his hands on the arm rests of his chair. “Of course,” John replied. At that moment, I had also put him into the pool of unknowns, and I immediately sought to bring him out.

It took a few seconds for me to muster “sentiment courage,” but when I did, my question came out faster than I had originally intended.

“Why are you still here?” I asked.

John stared at me, perplexed. “Because I care about you. Did- have I not made that clear?”

I sighed, and my breath formed a small cloud on the glass; it quickly faded away. “No, you have. I was just- well, I keep forgetting things.”

John sat forward- his elbows on his knees and his hands folded carefully. “Sherlock.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see he was blinking rapidly to absorb the shock in his face. “Where is all of this coming from? You would never forget that. You never really forget anything as meaningful as that- I hope.”

My fingers traced the lace trim on the curtains. “You’re aware that I think a lot,” I replied, being purposely ambiguous.

John rubbed his temples and then clasped his hands together. He turned his gaze to my feet, then back at my face. “You’re right. I am aware.” He had decided to play it safe by playing along in order to get me to open up, and I could tell that it was having just that affect on me.

_Damn him!_

“I don’t just think about details for cases, although that does take up a huge bit of my time,” I said. “I reflect on what has happened, where it can go from here… and how things could be different- better, even.”

John gave no reply. He simply gave a barely audible sigh and stared back at my feet. He probably knew where this was going.

“Tell me, John, why do you view me as your friend?”

“Because you saved my life,” John said quickly, without having to think at all. “You made me happy again. I felt safe with you. I felt excited with you.” He took a deep breath. “You completed me.”

“And how do you feel now, John?” I removed my head from the window and began making the journey back to my chair. “You’re with me right now, and how do you feel? Tired. Worried. Scared. _Responsible_.”

“Sherlock, I want you to get better! I don’t want you to have to feel the need to shove drugs in your arm!”

I felt bile rising in my throat, but it was from anger, not withdrawal, and I had no idea why. I stopped mid-step, set my foot down where I was, and glared at him. “You don’t even know what the problem is!”

“YOU WON’T FUCKING TELL ME!” John bellowed, his chest heaving. He then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“John… Please, I don’t want you to think that it’s your fault. It’s mine. It really is.”

He eased back in his chair. “Sherlock…”

“It’s my neediness that got us into this position,” I said. I sat down in my chair and put my head in my hands. “It’s my constant need for…” I wanted to say stimulation, but I said something entirely different. “… a distraction from my- well, you know what it is, that earned me a needle in my arm.”

“What are you feeling?” John asked. His voice had reverted back to its comforting tone, a sharp contrast to his yells a moment before.

It was really happening. I was really telling him. I could feel my Mind Palace flooding. Cleanup was not going to be quite an easy feat.

“Tired,” I replied, careful consideration put into my word choice despite the flooding. (They invented damns and levies for a reason).

“Of what?” John’s presence seemed so comforting…

“Watching,” I whispered.  “Watching everybody else get their lives in order. Watching everybody else frolicking in their happiness while I am left to be protected by my…. loneliness.”   I brought my feet up into the chair so I could rest my head between my legs. “This is the man you call your best friend, John. Not a proud, intellectual machine, but a ruminating bottom-feeder.” I looked at the carpet. “This is me.”

“No,” John said. “You are neither.”

I looked up at him. He continued.

“You are not a machine. You may be- extremely upset and some might even call you depressed, and if it’s to this degree, it probably is depression.”

“John, don’t-“

“But you are a human, just like this ‘everybody else’ you refer to. A human… with feeling.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see John watching me. His eyebrows were furrowed together slightly. His lips were slightly pressed together. A gaze of pure sincerity spread across his face. Out of the corner of my eye, I could also the yellow bruise on my arm, for I had neglected to bother with rolling my sleeve back up.

“They like getting in the way, don’t they?” I said, speaking almost as softly as John had been. “They like making my thoughts a mess… They like changing people.”

“Well…” John folded his fingers on his chest. “If you don’t have any experience with them, as in pushing them away instead of dealing with them, they have a tendency to have that effect on the mind.”

I could feel tears welling up on my bottom eyelids. I had to force my transport to abstain from blinking, just in case they fell down my face.

“I can tell that this is really you talking now,” John continued. “This is an issue that has to have been plaguing you for quite some time, am I right?”

I nodded. “Off-and-on since I was young.”

“How often and how young?”

“I was around the age of twelve or thirteen,” I murmured. “It came to me sparingly then, but as you can see, it has practically consumed me…”

I shifted my attention towards the small, orange fire crackling in the fireplace. “John, I don’t know what to think about anymore. In truth, I don’t want to think about this.”

He leaned forward again and rubbed his neck. “Taking that first step in opening up is always the hardest, but you’ve really just passed it. You came to me, and that’s a great sign.”

I lifted my head and put it in my hands before lowering it back down to my knees. “This whole process is making me dizzy.”

“Hey,” John said. “It’s alright. You are doing spectacular. You have to tell me things at your pace, remember?”

“But you and I both know this needs to be out now.” I sniffled. “Otherwise, I’m going to continue to suffer.”

John got up from his chair. I lowered my legs to floor so he would have room to sit on the chair with me. He sat down and put his hand gently on the middle of my back. I leaned up against him. I never knew how warm a person’s embrace could be until I met John…

“I’ve never had to be comforted so much in my life,” I said one moment after we had been sitting there for a few minutes.

“You haven’t let yourself be comforted in quite some time,” John replied.

_When did this angelic idiot discover all of the proper things to say?_

“You’re the only one who knows how.” I lifted my head up and rested it on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me in a side-ways manner that is only true embracing option on a cramped chair.

“And yet you’re still holding things back from me, Sherlock.”

“Oh, of course, John. There has always been something I will never be able to tell you, whether for national security’s sake, or simply because not even you could rip it out of me.” _Like what I did during my two- year vacation. Like the fact that you are the greatest man that has ever walked into my life, and the fact that I will never be ever to truly express that…_

“I sincerely hope that nothing that could be considered detrimental to your overall health could fall into that category,” John replied.

I smiled, because that was all that I was brave enough to do. _You have no idea how much I have to hide from you…_

“What was that?” John asked, and I realized that I had said what I had been thinking aloud. I could feel blood rushing to my cheeks.

“N-nothing,” I murmured.

“No, what did you just say?”

I sighed. I was in no position to argue. “Apparently, I said that you have no idea how much I have to hide from you.”

“Am I really that untrustworthy, Sherlock? God, have I not made my intentions clear?”

“There are some things that you don’t need to know!”

“If those are the secrets that are causing you ill, how can I possibly hope to help…?” He looked at the door to the flat. I did not like that sign.

“Please,” I whimpered. “Simply being here is helping me. John… Please! You make me feel whole again!”

 


	5. Much-Needed Discussions and Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I apologize for this update for taking so long, but I can assure you I finally added that Johnlock you were promised.  
> I would also like to take this time to formally thank you for all of your support.  
> I do not own BBC Sherlock.  
> Thank you.

_“John… Please! You make me feel whole again!”_

My words had lingered in the air between me and John. John leaned against the frame of the kitchen’s threshold; his poker face (acquired through cases with me) had slid into place, yet my mind raced to produce a plausible explanation for what could be going on in his head. Was he shocked? Likely. Was he expecting that kind of outburst? I was not aware that the possibility that I would have lost that much control was of such great proportion as to allow something of such a sentimental magnitude to fly out of my mouth.

China White was never a great mistress to wake up next to…

John’s shoulders slowly bobbed up and down with each breath. He eyes darted here and there, trying to find something to say or at least something to change the subject to, even if there could never have been something in the flat that would be more commanding than my words. I focused my tear-blurred gaze on him while simultaneously wishing that the ceiling would open, thus allowing me to be sucked into oblivion.

_Please. Please, don’t let him jump to the right conclusions._

“How?” John asked, looking up at me with those angelic eyes… I marveled at the impact such a simple, common word had in the space between us.

I waited a moment to see if he was going to expand upon his word. When he did not, I replied, “What do you mean?”

“Sherlock, how hard was that?” He shifted slightly where he stood. “How difficult is it for you to talk to me right now, in the comfort of your flat and in my presence.”

I could feel yet another salty drop of water pave its path down my cheek. I wedged by hands between my knees and looked at the rug. “Very. Hellishly so.”

He slowly began to walk away from the kitchen. He sat down on the sofa before continuing.  “I want this to be easy. But you’re going to have to _cooperate,_ Sherlock.”

“I know. I know. I know.” I held my hands over the sides of my face. “Okay? I know what have to do!”

“Look, I’m aware that focusing on things is really difficult for you right now. Withdrawal is raging in your system. I understand. But if there is anything at all, besides me being here, that will help you talk about this, you must tell me. I will make it happen. I promise.”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Tea,” I whispered. “I’ll address it over tea.”

~

I watched as John poured scalding hot water into two dully-styled, tea bag-clad mugs on the counter.  His hands held the kettle firmly in place. His brow furrowed slightly as he made sure both mugs were filled with the same amount of liquid, causing the wrinkles in his face (most of which I contributed to) to become more prominent. They disappeared beneath his flesh once he was satisfied with the level of tea each mug was going to receive.

As he set the kettle on one of the stove-top burners, he turned and looked at me.

 “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said.  “Has there been an interesting case recently?”

I laughed. “Oh no, certainly not.”

John leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “Well, there can only be so many fabulous murders in London at a single time, I suppose.” He giggled and I did as well. We must have looked so ridiculous. That conversation reminded me of the ones we used to have years ago.

He looked at the dirty floor for a moment before turning around and messing with the tea bags in an attempt to allow them to seep faster.  After a few seconds, John removed the tea bags from the mugs and threw them away. He proceeded to make my tea the way I preferred, and when he was done, he turned around and handed it to me. I took it gladly. He then set out to make his own, adding a noticeable quantity of milk.

I looked at the tea in my mug and the gray streaks of smoke radiating off of it. My left-hand fingers gently tapped the side of the cup, measuring the heat of the liquid. As soon as I could touch the mug without being burned, I raised it to my lips and took a sip. John could still make my cup of tea perfectly, even after all this time.

I heard a spoon clinking against the inside of John’s mug as he stirred that liberal amount of milk into his tea, and then I heard it clatter in the sink.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked.

I nodded. We were no longer in dwelling in the better days of the past. We had been brought back into the cold, dark present, where my only warmth was from John, the cup in my hands, and the now dying embers in the fireplace.

We went silently back into the sitting room. The floor did not even creak with our footsteps.

I sat down in my chair, careful not to spill my tea, for my hands were still shaking. John sat across from me once more on the sofa. He was looking at me, but not expectantly; I still knew he wanted me to start talking.

“Can you, um, would it be too much trouble to ask you to begin?” I asked. My voice was shaky, uncertain- a true mirror of all of the thoughts that were roaming through my mind. “It might help if I can sort of… ease myself into speaking.”

“Okay,” John croaked. “Do you mind if I begin with a question?”

“It depends on what you want to ask me.”

“Well, out of all of the questions I could ask and would certainly like to ask, this one is probably one of the easier ones that you could answer for me.”

“Fine. Go ahead.” I raised my mug to take another sip. Even though I had tested the temperature before the last one, I still hurt the tip of my tongue.

“What’s it like to be high?”

It was a good thing that I had swallowed that gulp of tea; otherwise I would have surely spit it out everywhere.

“It’s- it’s not a practice that I would say is a good way to-“I stopped to gather my thoughts. “-solve anything. It’s simply a very adequate distraction.”

“How so?”

“Well,” I sighed. “Come now, John. You’re a fucking doctor. You’re familiar with the effects of heroin.”

“I want to know what it’s like from your point of view.” John took a rather large swig from his mug.

I sighed and looked down at my lap. “It helps me forget. It lets me be happy again. It lets me leave this awful place while I’m still lying in my own flat.” John was about to say something, but I kept going. “I don’t have to be who I am anymore. I can be free again. I don’t have to… stumble.”

“W-what do you mean by that?”

“I’m saying I don’t have to be this- this-this thing anymore!” I took a deep breath, least my body became tense enough for my brain to do the same.

“Sherlock, you’re not a thing. Okay? You are the most human person I have ever met.”

“No,” I said curtly. I saw tears in John’s eyes once more. It killed me to do this to him. “You have got to understand that your view of me is wrong.”

John shook his head. He was on the verge of crying. “You are the most amazing person in my world. You have gifts that no other human being on this planet could ever hope to have. You are a great man. Why can’t you see that? Why do you think that you have to do this to yourself?”

I looked away. “You will walk away when I tell you this. Because I will. This is the time that I was talking about earlier, in the tub.”

“Please,” John said. “Get it out.”

“First of all, your wife should be the most amazing person in your world, John. Not me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you shouldn’t be here taking care of me. You should be at home with your wife instead of talking to her through your mobile. I shouldn’t be your top priority, John…. And- And shame on me for thinking that I wanted to be.”

He looked at me with pleading eyes. “You-“

“I can’t stand that I still feel the need to have you in my life, when after all that I have done, I don’t deserve you. John Watson, I am a fucking idiot. I know that. I am a beast that needs to pry you away from your rightfully-deserved, normal, happy life in order to not feel alone when I really should be. I took the drugs because then I didn’t have to summon anyone to help me sort through my own issues. I could push all of…” _My love for you._ “…these emotions away on my own. I didn’t have to be a bother to anyone. I COULD BE CONTENT WITH BEING ALONE AGAIN!”

John set his mug down. “Forgive me, Sherlock, but I don’t think that you were ever content with being alone.”

“How the hell can you make such an assumption?”

“Because I know you well-enough to say that your ‘sociopathy’ is a ruse and you can only suppress your emotions for so long before they bubble over and lead to danger nights such as these. And whether you like it or not, your actions are silent cries for help. You wanted somebody to come and help you, but you didn’t want to bother anyone. Really, it would have made my day to know that you would have come to me and asked for some guidance when you were truly hurting.”

I gave in and nodded in agreement. “I can’t deal with them, John. I’ve never had this come upon me as strong as it has been these past few days. I-I-“I set my mug down as well; my throat was too tight to allow for anything to be swallowed. “-have to suck it up and be a man, but I can’t. I am utterly incapable of continuing to hide this from you, even if it is going to absolutely tarnish everything that I have worked for.”

“The floor is yours, Sherlock, even though your idea of tarnishing anything is absolutely preposterous _at this point.”_

My shaking began to worsen, and I was glad that I had decided to set down my cup of tea. A set of chills racked my body, my mouth began to fill with saliva, and my heart began to pound in my ears. Another tear fell down my face. I was going to get sick again.

“John, I think I might-“I began as I got up from my seat.

“Go. GO!”

I made it to the loo. John pulled my curls back without having to be asked. After I was sure my body was finished, I rolled over onto the floor and cried at the sight of his undying loyalty.

~

I told John that I wanted to continue our conversation elsewhere besides in front of the fireplace, which was now filled with a pile of white embers and black soot. He and I both sat on the edge of my bed, the trash basin sitting close to me as well. John said that all of the “excitement” that I had put myself under had caused my body to revolt once more.

“It’s hard for me to say this, John,” I whispered. “It might even be hard for you to hear it. And your reaction will certainly prove to be a challenge for me to handle, especially in such a hideous state.”

“Please,” John whispered. He grabbed my right hand and held it tightly.

Tears began to flow again. _Oh, won’t my eyes ever stop?_

“John Watson,” I said, on the verge of breaking down, since I finally began to understand how I was impacted by the words I was about to say; I had only began to scratch the surface in my deluded thinking in years prior. “I ‘m sorry, but… I’m in love with you.”

I placed my head in my hands and braced myself to bear the shame that I had brought upon myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUHHH!!!


	6. Some Things Just Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that I have not updated in a while. If you were waiting, I'm sorry I have kept you.  
> But, in light of the Supreme Court's amazing decision, I thought that it would be prudent to release the chapter that I had been working on today.  
> I do not own BBC Sherlock.  
> Thank you for reading. Enjoy the Johnlock.

John looked at me, stunned. His lips were quivering, as if his mouth was trying to say all of the responses that came to his mind at once. I could hear his heavy, nervous breathing, and it did nothing but fuel the tension in the five centimeter space between us. I had brought about another tragedy; another avalanche had been summoned by me, and I feared that this time, it was going to succeed in making things too difficult for John to stay around me.

Regardless of my fake suicide, Magnussen, the fact that he was still selfless enough to pause his life for my own even to that day, and even John’s internal desire to feel excited, I knew everything that we had was gone, and a part of me realized at that moment that our friendship had been dying away, and I simply did not want to recognize it.

In truth, I had never felt so exposed; the deepest, most devilish desires of my heart had just been spilled. Granted, John wanted to know what all I had been hiding and what they real root of my current despair was, and he should have known that even when he did manage to get something out of me that I was going to be very direct, but I still believed that I could have used some sort of learned, fake, social tactic to dress up what I had to say to make it easier on his ears.

Yet, while I felt exposed, I also felt liberated. I had been guarding that secret for years, and since it was out, a huge weight had been removed from my mind. I wondered if I could risk walking into John’s Wing in the Palace and enter _all_ of the rooms safely without running the risk of the emotions stored there leaving their rightful place, since I had just admitted to John (and myself) the true nature of that wing (although not explicitly).

I must have been crying yet again, since John pulled a handkerchief seemingly out of thin air and began to wipe my cheeks.

“I-well, you know,” John began. He still did not know what to say. I did not blame him. “That’s quite a statement.”

I did not respond. Of course it was.

“Jesus, Sherlock…. How long have you felt like this?”

I wanted to lie, because for some strange reason I found myself still afraid of saying deep secrets even though I had just divulged one of the biggest plagues upon my mind, yet I found myself incapable of calling upon my acting abilities.

“I started looking at you- in that way, a few months after you moved in with me,” I answered. "Okay, a few moments after I first saw you in Bart's lab."

“My god, Sherlock-“

“I’m sorry. I really am, John.”

“No.” John waved his hand dismissively. I braced for the worst, but he surprised me. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I think it’s time… that I open up to you as well. Get it all out before us… yeah, that sounds good.” He took a deep breath. He was openly crying as well.

“For what it’s worth… now, of all times,” John continued. “I have struggled with my emotions towards you for quite some time as well. And I believe that there are a lot of areas where Mary is lacking… one namely being trust.”

I held my breath. _Please. Tell me you love me too._

A small smile spread across his lips, but it was still big enough to illuminate his grey-blue eyes. “I think you could be a better lover than she is. I think you are even more amazing than she is. So yes, I love you too, if not more, I’m afraid.” He sighed, though it was barely detectable. “Let’s be even more honest. She was simply a substitute… for someone who completed me better.”

He began to slowly rub his fingers along my arm. My nerves seemingly rose up in my skin to meet his touch. Warmth filled my chest; it consumed the empty void I had been forced to endure my life with.

I gave out some sort of noise at having my spirits lifted- officially lifted, as in I had been emotionally healed by a human instead of an illegal, artificial substance. It sounded like a combination of a squeak and dying whimper. It did, however, resonate with relief. I quickly wrapped my arms around him tightly. He returned the embrace, and I buried my face into the crook of his neck. It was almost- no, it was unnatural how heavenly John felt. I could feel his steady, peaceful heartbeat, and my own, though it had to have been a little faster than normal due to the caffeine in my tea, began to beat alongside it.

John began to kiss the lower length of my neck, since it was the only place he could conveniently do so at the time. I was a bit taken back at how quickly both of us had blended into each other. It was harmonious; it was as though all of those sentimentally-inclined angels of which I never believed in suddenly appeared and began to sing. I could have only imagined the physical and emotional responses that would occur between us if we kissed. I wanted to find out, and for once, it was not for an experiment or case.

My heart wanted it, and my brain decided to let it indulge.

“Y-You have n-no idea how happy it makes me to h-hear that,” I said, my voice muffled by his aftershave-scented flesh.

“I know,” John whispered. “Oh my god….” He trailed off.

I withdrew from him, wanting to see what was wrong. He was looking at the floor.

“John,” I said. I hoped simply saying his name would be enough to say all of the things I wanted to say. _I know this is difficult for you. I know you’re probably thinking about Mary. I know this isn’t going amount to anything. But could you please tell me what’s wrong?_

It seemed to do the trick.

“My family, Sherlock- what about them? Hmm?”

I sat there, dumbfounded even though I was well-aware even in my love euphoria that the situation concerning John’s marriage had to be brought under discussion.

I placed my hand over his. He looked at it a moment and then returned his gaze to the floor. I could not help but to look there myself. There were no answers to be found on the rug, but there was a sense of solace.

“I’m aware of what this does to us now,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I know what kind of man you are. I would rather you leave me for your wife and child that remain here with me. I would rather you love them than suffer through hell with me.”

“What kind of man do you think I am?!” John yelled.

“Calm down.”

“Calm down? Me? Oh, coming from a heroin addict under withdrawal that’s just grand.”

“Look, I’m sorry, John! I can’t help how I feel about you.”

John ran his fingers through his hair.

“We’re at a loss, John,” I continued. “Well, I am. You can have the life that you always wanted. You can raise your child with your wife at your side. I can be the best friend. I can the acquaintance. I can be a face from the past.”

“I don’t want that to happen.” John replied. “I want what I can’t have- what we can’t have.”

I hesitated. “What do you want?”

“I-I want to have what I had before,” John said softly, age dominating his voice. “I would love to be back in this flat with you, but with us being- well, more than we were before. But I can’t have that, can I?”

I did not want to, but I shook my head in reply.

“What an ultimatum,” John said to himself. He then looked back up at me. “You know what my current dream is? You know, what the naïve part of my mind has conjured up?”

“What is it?”

“I want to be back here, with my kid, and especially, with you.”

I shook my head sympathetically, even though it sounded heavenly. “John…”

“I don’t know why you love me,” John continued. “I can’t really explain why I love you. Something about you has drawn me in and refuses to let me leave. And even though you’ve created a mess, and even though it’s not entirely your fault, I love that you love me too. I guess I have learned that some things just happen.

“We can never go back to the way things were, Sherlock, and as often as we- I, say it’s possible, it won’t be. Not with the events that have transpired over the course of these three years, and especially this week.”

I couldn’t make a reply.

“I want two things in this world, and they’re making me go on two different paths. I want my child, and I want you, Sherlock. Even though that baby is part Mary’s, she’s also part of me as well, and I w-” He choked. It was evident that the gravity of the situation was truly consuming him. “I want to be a part of her life, like the dad I need to be. But I also need you, and you clearly need me…” He was on the verge of letting his suppressed sobs wash over him.

I did the first thing that came to my head. “Come here,” I said. I wrapped my arms around him again.

“What an impossible place we’ve found ourselves in,” I whispered. I could have been talking to John, I could have been talking to myself, or I could have been talking to anything that could have helped us.

Then, an idea hit me.

“Mycroft,” I grumbled out-of-habit, when really he was our final hope.

“What?” John asked.

“Mycroft, my brother,” I replied. “There’s got to be something he can do. I mean, he has a seemingly vast amount of power in virtually every system within England’s borders and some beyond. Maybe he can help us.”

“Do you think he would be willing to do something like that, for us? I mean, help me get away from Mary?”

“He may even fight your custody battle for you,” I said. “Well, there may be a few bumps in the road in that process, due to the way I choose to live my life. You do want to move back in with me, right?”

“Oh god, yes, Sherlock.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. “I’ll text him now.”

As I searched through my contacts, John sighed and watched my fingers. It took me quite a few texts to explain everything to my pompous older brother, but I refused to leave out any details. I told him about my relapse, the past few days, and what had just happened in my sitting room. No doubt he already knew about all of it, but I still wanted to tell him what happened from my own eyes. I thought maybe he would be more apt to listen to me.

I ended my long chain of messages with:

_“Mycroft, I need your help know more than ever. I know I owe a lot to you already. But please, can you at least tell me what we need to do.”_

It was by no means easy, but I sent that to him. His reply came in less than two minutes.

_“I would be happy to help you.”_

I replied with a thank-you, put my phone in my pocket, and looked back up at John.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“A little better,” I said. “My transport actually feels normal again.”

“Good,” John replied, his tone much chipper, much more like himself. I liked hearing his voice when he was relieved. “Listen, if you’re up to it, I thought maybe we could go out and get something to eat tonight?”

I stood up and waited a few seconds. When I decided I didn’t feel nauseas, I looked at him and said, “That sounds wonderful.”

~

We had been seated at the same table we were given when john and I were on the hunt for a murderous cab driver three years ago. Both of us silently noted the coincidence.

“So, what did your brother say?” John asked, anticipation and dread dripping form every word.

“He’s going to do what he can.”

“I just hope this works.”

I nodded. “I do too.”

“Listen, Sherlock, what are _we_ going to do once all of this is over?”

“What are you talking about?”

John took a rather large sip from his wine glass. “I mean, what’s going to become of our relationship?”


	7. Figuring Things Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know I haven't updated in a while, but this is the last chapter for something REALLY BIG. I have been working on the possibilities for quite some time. You'll know more once you've read the chapter and the note at the end.  
> I do not own BBC Sherlock.  
> Enjoy.

“…I have no idea.”

I placed my hand on my chin and my elbow on the back of the seat. That question had no doubt been tossing in his mind ever since we left the flat, as it had in mine.

I watched a cab roll by the window. There was a woman sitting in the back seat. Despite the dim light characteristic of Angelo’s and of London’s streets just after sundown, I could tell she was wearing a rather costly-looking and revealing black blouse. She was on her way to a date, likely at a restaurant, just like me and John were. I wondered if her relationship was as complicated as ours was (while they are possible at a distance and at certain speeds, deductions are done best when done within certain parameters … and without emotional disturbance). I wondered if what John and I were engaging in could have been considered a date, and even more dull, an affair. I decided it did not matter. Our plan had already been established and somewhat put into motion, so it was useless for me to engage in such a foolish notion as to walk in someone else’s shoes in order to experience a love life with less difficulty.

John sighed. Even though it was not probable that he had seen the woman in the cab and had taken to deducing simple things as I had, I wondered if he too wished he had the opportunity to live the life of someone else.

“I’m wondering if I should text Mary and tell her we’ve gone out,” John said in a low voice.

“If you think you should. Go ahead,” I replied.

“I suppose it’s the right thing to do,” he muttered as he pulled out his mobile.

I watched the screen illuminate with light and John turned his phone on. As soon as he selected his contacts, I turned back to the busy London street. Over the years, I had been visited by many people asking for me to help them with their love affairs, and I had thrown every one of them out of my flat. I began to question whether I was becoming just like them- or at least turning John and Mary into the kinds of people who would seek out detective help to follow their significant others. Not something that I would have considered before that night.

“John,” I said when he finally put his mobile back in his pocket and his brow ceased to be furrowed.

“What is it?”

I cleared my throat. “What did you say?” I asked.

“Oh, I just told her that you were feeling better and that we went out. She said that she was glad to hear it.”

“She’ll be expecting you to return home soon,” I replied.

“I know,” he said. It was evident that he was not going to elaborate on his feelings regarding the matter, as it was not fitting of his personality anyway.

“I suppose we should enjoy our time together, even if it is under these circumstances,” I said. John nodded in agreement.

“Listen, um, Sherlock, I’m really trying to keep a clear head here,” John said.

“I never said you weren’t.”

“Let me finish.” He looked down at his lap. “I’m attempting to handle this, ah, legal situation that is about to arise with my wife, and I’m trying to figure out some things about myself.”

I knew very well what he was referring to. “John, just because you have feelings for another man does not explicitly mean you are gay. You may as well be bisexual as of right now.”

John shook his head. “I have no clue. I don’t know what any of this means.” He looked back up at me. “What about you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, well, what do you identify as?”

I hesitated a moment before answering. “I have never considered my orientation to be something that was urgent for me to understand. I had always assumed that, should there be any need for me to have an answer to your question on a case, I would be able to lie about it. So no, I have not considered it myself…”

“Sherlock.”

Our eyes connected, and I could not bring myself to explain _why_ I had never pursued understanding of that more sentimental part of myself, even though I had an inkling that John was starting to see more of the full picture of my mind than I gave him credit for _._ I felt like I was floating. I could no longer hear the sounds of the people around us or the city outside. I could no longer see our surroundings; all of my attention had focused upon that damned blonde-gone-grey, and it was completely out of my control. I could no longer feel the chair beneath my bum, or the coat still wrapped closely around my torso.

“Sherlock,” he repeated, and I snapped out of it.

“What?”

“Must you always go to such great lengths to explain yourself to me? A simple yes or no would have sufficed.”

I smiled. “You know very well that I could never do that, especially now that I’m- getting my grove back.”

He laughed. “I guess.” His expression straightened. “I still want to find out. You know, what I really am, and what it really feels like to shag- truly shag, with the person you love.”

I choked on my water. I could see Angelo hiding in the shadows near the kitchen. His eyes were bright from the grin on his lips. I swore I heard him chuckling.

“I hope you know what you have just insinuated,” I said cautiously, even though I secretly relished in the idea that John actually wanted to hop into my bed and shag.

“You relapsed, I confessed that I wanted to divorce my wife, you asked your brother for help, and now we’re on a date in a restaurant where I have denied my love for you countless times,” John began. “Compared to everything else, you and I exchanging in sexual intercourse is not all that peculiar.”

~

Standing there, side-by-side with John, looking at all the varieties of lubricant, I realized that I was in over my head. Brands, purposes, bottle sizes, prices, colors, _scents_ …

John cleared his throat. “Well, how invigorated do you want to feel?” he asked with a giggle. I could tell that he was just as nervous and excited as I was.

I clenched my fists together; my fingernails dug into the flesh of my palm. “Surely we can just get any bottle?”

John looked at me out of the corner of his eyes- a rarity that I found absolutely gorgeous and thrilling. “A little antsy, are we?”

I smiled and laughed myself. “I fear that I may be far out of my element.”

“Well, I am too, you know.”

I swallowed. “I fear that I may be relying far too much on your expertise, Dr. Watson.”

John reached forward and grabbed the first bottle of lubricant his hand could find, albeit a little too quickly to indicate that he was feeling his normal self at the moment.

“We should get out of here,” John said as-a-matter-of-factly. His shoulders were tense.

“I-I agree,” I replied. I secretly hoped that the rest of the night was not going to be unfolding as awkwardly as it had been.

~

I was sitting upon the front of my bed. John was standing in front of me, his gaze fixed on the bottle on the bedspread. I was focused upon him, for he was so adorable in his nervousness that I found the spectacle quite marvelous. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to laugh at him. I wanted to laugh at myself. I wanted to laugh at the situation we had found ourselves in.

“Well,” John said. “There’s- ah, there’s no going back if we- well…”

“Have sex,” I finished with a smirk. The urge to laugh was increasing. Truly, I had never come into contact with a human being more nervous than John was at that very moment.

“Y-Yeah,” John said. He shifted his gaze to his feet and put his hands on his hips. Even though I was viewing his face at angle, I could see the light the smile brought to his eyes. “That’s what, ah, I was going to say.”

“John, you don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to. I mean, sure, I would love to see you stripped down right about now, but we-“

“What?!”

I tried to act innocent. “Oh, it was nothing. I was just rambling on as usual.” I grinned. “I was just saying that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He finally looked at me; he was still wearing that same smirk, still making my heart beat just a little bit faster, still making my stomach tense up just a little bit more, still making my face feel just a little bit hotter.

My mobile buzzed. “It’s Mycroft,” I muttered, before getting up and grabbing it.

_I will come for both of you tomorrow to discuss your options. Be ready by nine o’clock. Oh, and for future reference, you really should invest in the “super-sized” bottle. I believe you’ll  find you’ll like things better if you don’t have to restock on lubricant quite as often as you are prospected to.”_

I sighed softly, in the way one does when they have experienced great relief. “You bastard,” I murmured.

“What did he say,” John asked.

Instead of telling him what my brother had said aloud, I handed him my mobile for him to discover for himself.

“What the hell,” John sighed, and then giggled. “Maybe he’s right.”

“Of course he’s right,” I replied. “He makes a living by being right all of the time.”

“I think I could be ready by nine o’clock. Could you?”

“So, you aren’t feeling shy…”

“No, no I’m not.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “The key thing that I am trying to wrap my head around is how we are going to do this. I mean, it’s not something we can exactly… well, rush into.”

“Oh, come on John!” I exclaimed. “We’ve watched enough of your romantic comedies to know that you can go as fast or as slow as you want between the sheets.”

“I just want this to be… magical!”

I stared at him. “How much foreplay do you want?” I pointed to my closet. “I’ve got a variety of outfits that could suit this occasion.”

“Oh, jeez. You know, for someone who has had no prior sexual experiences, you sure do seem to know a lot about this.”

“Well, Irene did teach me a few tricks…” I thought back to the night John brought me home from Miss Adler’s apartment. I wonder if he saw-

“Was there anything going on between you two?” John asked inquisitively.

“Nope,” I replied, popping the p. “Nor was there any attachment to Janine. But you already knew that.”

“What about Molly?”

“What of her?” _Oh dear, please John, not now._

“Did you ever feel any emotional attachment to her?”

I paused, looking away. “I did at one time, but we’ve both moved on from each other.” I glanced back at my… well, whatever John could have been considered. Boyfriend, perhaps? “We’re just close friends. We make each other better. But we are, in no ways, capable of being in a relationship to the degree that we are. She’s grown. She can handle herself. Molly and I care about each other’s well-being. And that is all.”

“Are you sure she feels the same way? I mean… You saw Tom.”

I sighed. “Neither of us is going to get turned on if you keep  bringing people up. Not that it's very difficult to begin with...”

“I want to know what you think.”

“Fine, but I get to ask you a question after I answer you.” John nodded, and I took a deep breath. “I really want to believe that she will be fine. She’s capable of moving on. Molly is strong enough. And I think she will be delighted if she finds out about us.”

“Alright.” John placed his hands on his knees. “That sounds decent enough, coming from you, at least.” He didn’t react to my glare. “Now, what were you going to ask me?”

“Well, since we are on the topic of all previous relationships, I was wondering what your numerous exes and soon-to-be-ex-wife was to you.”

John looked taken back, but he was willing to answer. “All of the women I dated while I lived here with you served as distractions. Distractions from, well, what was welling up inside of me.”

“Love for me, right?”

“Yeah. And um, Mary seemed so much like you in so many ways, and I was so alone after you had supposedly died. I thought, with you gone, I could finally stand to be with someone else, and I could try to be someone else myself. Is-is that enough?”

“Yes,” I replied softly.

My mobile buzzed yet again. John picked it up and grimaced before allowing me to see it.

_When are the festivities going to begin? –MH_

“What a pervert,” John said. His eyes darted to and fro. “How many bugs does he even have in here?”

“He’s only teasing,” I said. “He respects me enough not to bug my private bedroom, surprisingly. He’s probably picking up our conversation from the ones in the hallway.”

“Well, should we entertain him?” John asked. All of his nervousness had faded away. He had conquered the mental obstacles that had been preventing him from letting him give himself to me wholly. I wanted to return the favor. I wanted to give myself to him as well.

“I think that’s an excellent idea, my dear Watson.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to ask. Would you like me to up the ante, change the rating, and add some good ol' fashioned smut? Or would you like to proceed straight to Mycroft's grand entrance?  
> Thanks for reading.


	8. First Things First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own BBC Sherlock.  
> Thank you once again for your support. You guys are awesome.  
> Enjoy.

I was thoroughly impressed when we both finally decided we could do no more after one in the morning. We saw the state of my bed sheets and decided that it was best we slept in John’s bed (he would not shut up about the fact that I kept a bed in that room out of hope that he would return to the flat someday) and cleaned mine up the following morning before Mrs. Hudson returned from her sister’s and Mycroft arrived at the flat.

We were lying in John’s bed, still stark naked, trying to go to sleep when John decided to run his mouth. Not that I was necessarily objecting.

He turned over and faced me. My eyes were closed, but when I realized he was watching me, I quickly opened them.

“I’m so glad Mrs. Hudson wasn’t here this week,” he said before breaking out into a fit of laughter. “C-Can you imagine.”

“Mm. She’d probably call everyone we know and tell them about our creaking mattress.”

John laughed again before flopping onto his back. “I hope Mycroft’s plan is quick,” he stated.

“Of course it is. Have you not met the git?”

“I know. It’s just… I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep with Mary anymore. Not even to have sex, just to lie beneath the covers beside her. I just feel that I belong to you now, you know? Even though I’m still married to her?”

I propped myself up on my elbows and stared at him. “I suppose.”

“Want to know something embarrassing?” he asked.

“John, I already know you’re an idiot. You don’t have to prove it to me anymore.”

“No. No. This is good. I promise.”

I sighed and fell back on my pillow. “Fine, you can tell me.”

“One time, Mary and I were having sex, but I was really thinking about you during that time, and I started to come. I had to stop myself before I screamed your name.”

I looked back at him. “No way,” I said.

“I’m not lying!”

“Well, since you’re in an honest mood, did you ever think about me while you fucked all of those other chicks? Let’s see, Sarah perhaps?”

He chuckled. “I never actually fucked her.”

“… You didn’t?”

“No. I was too busy running around with you. And let’s be honest. Being kidnapped by a Chinese smuggler ring is a turn-off for a variety of people.”

I smirked. “Oh, she was going to leave you whether she was kidnapped or not.”

“Yeah. You’re right again.” John rolled over once more. He moved a loose curl out of my face and began to stroke my cheek.

“You know, you’re skin is actually pretty soft over your cheeks. I’ve always considered your cheeks to be hard to the touch, but they’re not…”

“I’m glad you and everyone else in the world like them so much,” I replied. “What people don’t realize is that they’re a pain in the ass to shave with a conventional razor.”

“I love them regardless. I love you regardless.” He kissed my forehead before turning away from me. “Goodnight.”

I stared at the back of his head for a moment. “Goodnight,” I replied, but I did not fall asleep right away as he did. I laid there and thought about how lucky I was to be in love with such a strong, firm, yet extremely caring and loyal man. He was sexy too. And he was finally mine.

I watched his chest rise and fall with each soft snore. I felt like I could watch him for hours. It was the first time in a long time that I felt happy.

I tried to find sleep in the hopes that I would summon more strength to face whatever challenge Mycroft was going to present us with.

~

I woke up a little after seven o’clock. I had slept soundly that night for the first time in what was apt to be years. I panicked slightly when I noticed that John was not in the bed beside me, and I began to wonder if what had happened the previous night had all been a hallucination induced by emotions. But then the distinctive smell of bacon filled my nostrils. John was still here. It was all real.

I saw that John had taken the liberty of laying my wine-colored dressing gown on the edge of his bed. I smiled at the thoughtfulness he had to leave me something to cover myself with, and yet he did not provide anything that I could have worn underneath it.

“Still feeling a little frisky, are we?” I murmured. I hoped that we would get another night alone together. John was already planning on visiting Mary that day to pick up some things and to keep up the story we needed her to believe.

I tied the dressing gown loosely around myself, creating the provocative look that John obviously was shooting for.

I walked out into the kitchen. John was standing over the stove concentrating on the sizzling pans in front of him. A cup of tea sat on the counter next him.

I leaned against the wall closest to me and sighed.

 _Maybe, just maybe, I can wake up to this every morning again. Maybe, just maybe, I can live alongside him. Maybe, just maybe, my brother is… well,_ half _the asshole he acts like.  
_


	9. Business As Usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness.... We've reached over 1,300 hits! Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story. It means a lot to me. I wish I could give some virtual cookies or something. Cookies sound good?  
> That being said, I should warn you about these next few chapters. The *ahem* is about to hit the fan, so to speak.  
> I am also going to say this, even though it has earned me some glares in the past, specifically from fans I have met in real life who do not understand my reason. But I freaking love Mycroft! Just saying.  
> I still hope you enjoy it, though.  
> I do not own BBC Sherlock.  
> Have a lovely read.

I had gotten sick twice that morning. Whether it was from withdrawal or my overwhelming suspicions about what my brother was going to throw at us, I could not tell. My sweats had returned. It took a strenuous amount of effort for me to go from my closet to my chair in the living room; my limbs had not ached to that extent since the aftermath of Serbia. Subsequently, it was John who removed the sheets from my- _our_ bed (I was still in shock over what we had done the night before, and the left-over endorphins were enough to sustain my focus). He was remaking my bed with his military precision when I heard the tapping of that damned umbrella on the wooden stairs.

He appeared before me standing tall, clad in his favorite grey suit, and without a single hair out of place. The umbrella in his right hand was spotless as usual, the wooden handle polished with careful consideration, not a single tear in the fabric or a kink in the metal wires holding it all together.

He smiled when he saw me. I thought he was going to give me one of his trademark thin-lipped smirks that indicated when he was saying all of the derogatory things he could never allow himself to say aloud. But instead, he showed his pearly-white teeth, and his smile crept all the way up his face and into his eyes. He looked back at the bedroom where John was working and then back at me.

“I knew this would happen someday,” Mycroft whispered.

I was about to reply when John emerged from the bedroom. He took one look at Mycroft and then at me before waving his hand dismissively at whatever thoughts had crossed his mind ad taking a seat in his chair before Mycroft had the chance to steal it from him.

“Perhaps, we should make Mycroft sit in the client’s chair?” I said, giving a small smile to John.

“I am perfectly capable of standing.” Mycroft leaned against his umbrella for good measure.

“Oh, nonsense!” I exclaimed, small hints of sarcasm dripping from my voice. It was obvious that my brother was trying to assert his dominance, even though he was well-aware that it would never be acceptable within the walls of that flat. “You’re a guest in our home. John, get my brother a chair.”

Though it seemed as if he had conjured it up out of thin air, since he had down it countless times, John set up the plastic chair and returned to his own. Reluctantly, Mycroft eased himself onto the thinned, leather cushion. It was then that I noticed that he had made significant progress on his diet. I estimated that he had lost four- no, _five_ pounds since I saw him last.

After a few moments of awkward silence, in which the room was a catalyst for tension of a suffocating degree, John cleared his throat and began to speak.

“So,” he whispered, and then his expression changed, and he must have realized he needed to talk louder. “What do you think we should do?”

My croft straightened up in his chair and sighed. “You mentioned that Mrs. Watson gave you a flash drive for the operative of A.G.R.A…”

John glared at me. I shrugged.

“… Well, regardless of who she has become now, A.G.R.A is also in the MI6 database. I have researched every piece of information about your wife’s past lives, everything that she did, and who she did them for. I know you got rid of that flash drive, so I will spare you of the gritty details, and I will simply disclose to both of you what it is we are dealing with.”

“In light of recent events with the supposed return of Moriarty and with the intelligence that has been obtained regarding A.G.R.A’s criminal activity, we have reason to believe that she has associated with Moriarty in the past and may still hold ties to the remaining network itself…” Mycroft looked at me for a second before directing his attention to the mirror over the fireplace.

“I have contacted my superiors on this issue,” Mycroft continued. “Many of these people have been intent on keeping a close eye on Sherlock since the whole Magnusson affair. A.G.R.A, well, _Mrs. Watson_ is a key component in figuring out who really broadcasted that message, whether it was Moriarty, or whether it was someone else…”

“You believe that my wife could have created it?” John asked, though not at all as surprised as a normal husband would be.

Mycroft nodded sadly, as if he actually hated being the bearer of bad news. “I may be in denial about Moriarty still being alive…”

I suppressed a wince at the memories of the two of us planning my fake death and him airlifting me out an abandoned Serbian warehouse.

 “…but I think Mrs. Watson created the message in order to repay my brother for any damages.”

I fought off the urge to cradle my side.

 “My superiors have been in a state of controlled panic over the past few weeks,” he sighed. “I am the reason anything can get done around my office. It would help our search tremendously if we were able to take your wife in for questioning, and if _someone_ would take a look at their emails once in a while.

“The point that I am trying to make is that Mrs. Watson is connected to a criminal network and has been placed in a high slot on a very specific list of people who need to be taken care of.”

John simply stared at him, his chest heaving as his mind raced to process all of this information.

“Where does that leave us,” I said quietly.

“I was lucky enough to secure the assignment regarding Mrs. Watson. It did raise a few questions, but with my reputation and the given predicament, my superiors were willing to turn a blind eye. I plan to wait until after Mrs. Watson is discharged from the hospital along with her child. I will take her in, get the information I need, and Mrs. Watson will be disposed of. She is in her third trimester, am I correct?”

John woke up from his sedative daze and nodded. “She’s due sometime next week.”

“Well then,” Mycroft said. “If you will allow me to do so, you easily skip all of the legal processes involved in getting a divorce, gain custody of your child, take all of your things from your current residence, and move back into 221B Baker Street.”

I began to grow worried as I watched John listening to my older brother. His hands began to clench the arms rests of his chair, and his jaw set itself to avoid showing any sort of emotion on his face.

“John,” I said cautiously. “Would you mind giving me and my older brother a few moments?”

He hesitated. “…Fine.” And with that, John got up and vanished behind my bedroom door.

I turned to Mycroft. “I will talk him around to it.”

He nodded. “I am afraid I have outstayed my welcome in your flat once more,” he said as he stood. “I will be on my way. I would like an answer by tonight, if at all possible. I will need it no later than by this time tomorrow if I am to make all of the necessary arrangements in time.”

I too stood up. “We’re both a little overwhelmed with the events of these past couple of days.”

Mycroft smirked, although he was in no ways being sarcastic nor did he find anything amusing. “Oh, of course. Withdrawal is never easy for anyone involved.”

“Mycroft…”

He held his free hand up. “I’m not poking fun. Alright? I just want to make sure that you are okay and that my worries can be laid to rest.”

I looked at my bedroom door and then back at him. “All of the symptoms were normal, but my body is slowly returning to normal.”

“Good,” Mycroft managed. “Tell Dr. Watson that I apologize for the way things have turned out.” He gave me a small, almost melancholy smile before turning to leave.

“Myc…”

He turned around to face me. I still do not know what possessed me, but I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him tightly. He slowly put his arms around me in return.  The umbrella hit the floor, forgotten.

“Thank you,” I whispered into his shoulder.

“It’s fine.”

“I- I really love him…”

“I know. I know you do.”

“You’re still one of the biggest assholes that I know.”

He laughed. “Well, I do enjoy maintaining my titles.”

My croft began to rub small circles on the middle of my back. I am sure we both heard the bedroom door open slightly, but we both refused to acknowledge it, and we have never addressed that moment since.

~

I picked up my mobile. John was supposed to call me once he had gotten everything he needed for the next few days.  When I saw that the call was from John, I quickly pressed the ‘Accept Call’ button and held it up to my ear.

“John?” I said.

I heard sobbing on the other end. “Sherlock.”

“What the hell is going on?”

He let out another exasperated cry. “She lied, Sherlock. The baby… it never existed.”

I grabbed the mug that I had been drinking my afternoon tea out of and threw it against the wall with an angry grunt. It smashed as soon as it came into contact with the plaster, creating a powdery, chunky mess on the floor and a waterfall of tea and sugar on the wallpaper.

“Did she just decide that she would tell you?! After all of this time?!”

“I wouldn’t let her say anything,” John replied. “I walked into the flat, and I saw her. She had been wearing pads to make it look like she was pregnant. I caught her without them on.” He started to break down again, but then quickly composed himself, which was not going to help him. “She kept trying to explain herself while I packed my things. She told me she had even paid off the doctor to keep him quiet. I should’ve known something was up when we went to Simon’s practice…”

“What else did she say?”

“She kept telling me how much she really loved me, and how she didn’t want her past to get in the way of our relationship. So she created the baby as some sort of insurance. She was planning on faking labor while I was at work and then having the child die before I could get to her. She was even planning on building a fake grave. She said she did it all because she thought she loved me…”

I placed my free hand over my eyes. “Jesus Christ… Where are you?”

“My cab’s almost to Baker Street. Tell Mycroft that he has the authority to conduct his plan.”

I sighed. “Alright. We’ll deal with this further when you get here.”

He sniffed. “Okay.”

“And John?”

“…Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I hung up just as Mrs. Hudson was walking up to my flat.

“What on earth was all of that racket about?” she asked.

“Mrs. Hudson,” I said. “John’s moving back here, but he’s going to be a mess when he arrives. I need you to remain silent about everything that had to do with Mary and the baby- even marriage in general.”

“What in bloody hell is going on, Sherlock?”

I looked at her, trying not to take my anger out on her. I was glad that my voice came out soft. “Things aren’t going so well. If John wants you to know, he will tell you.”

It hurt my heart to see her expression become so consumed with worry. “Oh dear… I’ll make some tea for when he arrives.” She turned around and retreated down the stairs mumbling to herself in order to calm her own nerves.

I opened up a text conversation with Mycroft. _You have John’s permission. You can carry out your plan whenever you like. –SH_

It was a moment before he replied. _Tell him to consider it done. –MH_

I threw my mobile on my chair. _Mycroft knows what’s going on_ , I thought as I began to pace. _He will handle it. Everything is going to be fine._

_John is going to be fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... In the next chapter, the view-point is going to shift from Sherlock to a third-person narrator for the beginning. I am saying this now, because that scene in particular is going to contain the violence that I warned you about with the archive warning in the tags. The rest of the chapter will follow Sherlock once more. I am saying this now.  
> Have a lovely day.


	10. No Less of a Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached over 1,500 hits! I am so excited. The virtual buffet is open to all of you. That's my way of saying thank-you.  
> But, enough of the pleasant talk.  
> This chapter contains mentions of abuse, murder, and rape. If such things trigger you, or if you simply cannot bear to read it, I would advise that you simply go on to Sherlock's part of this chapter, or avoid it altogether. The viewpoint returns to Sherlock after the first ~. I decided to take a break from the Mary Bashing in order to cut the poor woman some slack.  
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this update.  
> I do not own BBC Sherlock.  
> Have a lovely read.

Mary Watson folded her hands on the metal table in front of her. Her top teeth were held her bottom lip in a locked bite. She could make out her reflection in the foggy surface of the tabletop.

 _Strange,_ she thought. _I’m on the verge of death, and yet I am utterly unafraid. I am welcoming it. Jim was right. I feel happy that I am meeting my fate._

But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that her impending doom and the upcoming interrogation were the biggest issues she was facing, her thoughts kept going back to John. She could not get the image of the blood rising out of her head. It was the first image that had come to her when she woke up in this room. She had come up with better explanations for her actions as soon as her husband had walked out of the door of the flat. They were blatant lies, just as the rest of her life seemed to be, but at least she could have had a chance of having him around her again.

“Don’t get attached,” Jim told her in his own little sing-song voice. She was about to undergo her first under-cover assignment for the mastermind, having (in Jim’s eyes) proving herself when she effectively tied her future husband to a bomb while he was unconscious and resumed her place among the snipers overlooking the pool.  “You’ll add a whole ‘nother level to this little charade.”

_And I did just that. Despite everything I did to control myself, I still fell for him._

The door opened. She recognized the man standing in front of her as Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother. She had lost one of her criminal cronies when they had failed an assassination assignment on the man.

“I’m sure your team wouldn’t feel guilty about killing a woman with her tubes tied that one that was with child,” she said as she watched the elder Holmes settled into his stance.

“If you should be finding your grave soon, my team will not be the ones who laid you to rest,” he replied. Right away, Mary knew that it was going to be an interesting ride, but not one that would require much force on his part. She had made her decision.

“Don’t play like that, Mister Holmes. It doesn’t become you.” She leaned back into the cold, metal chair and stared at the spotless floor. “If I cooperate, my crimes are still enough to put me away until I really do die. I’m aware that I am on your so-called list of the vilest beings that haunt your authority. I’m at risk of returning to Jim, who no-doubt shall have me slowly butchered until I die from shock once he discovers that I am willing to cooperate with a Holmes.

“I want to tell you things, Mister Holmes. Not because a lousy death will be certain in any way that this plays out, but because…” she paused. “This must be very uncharacteristic of the people you normally keep in here, but I do feel guilty. Not just with my assignments, but because of…”

“Dr. Watson?” he asked quietly. He had resumed a place in the chair across from her. Jim was right when he said that Mycroft would take a more comfortable stance over someone to get information than Sherlock ever would, even if they both were equally sassy.

She nodded. He watched her; he listened intently, secretly eating everything up.

“Jim Moriarty is still alive,” she said. “He faked his death, as did Sherlock. He never told me how, but he came up to me a few weeks after that awful day was over and he told me that he had one final assignment for me. He said it was going to take the rest of my life. He hadn’t realized Sherlock had faked his own death until ripples started appearing in his network. He told me that he wanted me to take a job as a nurse and slowly infiltrate John Watson’s life, until I could convince John that he should use me to replace Sherlock in his absence. Jim wanted to burn the heart out of Sherlock, so he wanted to keep John away from him as much as possible when he came back to London.”

Mycroft crossed his legs. His eyes seemed… sympathetic, almost.

 _He’s playing me like a piano._ Mary sighed. _And yet it’s still making this easier._

“When you came and rescued your brother from Serbia, Jim came and told me that it was time for me to up the ante. I did everything I could to make him feel some sort of passion for me. I needed to make sure our marriage was not to be impeded upon. Now, I regret ever being a part of that lie.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because now, I love John just as much as Sherlock does. Maybe a little less, considering who we are referring to, but I do love him. I figure giving you this information can help give him the life that he wants, even though I took the possibility of our child from him.”

“How did you get in league with Moriarty to begin with?” Mycroft shifted his right leg further up his thigh.

She smiled sadly. “It was my first big mission for the CIA. I came into contact with him. You know what he’s like, Mister Holmes. He was so charming. He thought I could be such an asset to him. He had seen what I could do. And he made my decision to be a turncoat when he told me he knew why I had started working in the network.

“I saw… I saw god-awful things, Mister Holmes, and I did god-awful things that I am certainly not proud of, excluding the matter with my husband. In order to prove my loyalty to him, I had to…” She stopped to compose herself. “He brought me into a room where the white walls were painted rusty red with all of the dried blood. It apparently was the place where all of his employees proved themselves. I saw a middle-aged woman, stark naked, and b-bloody, and s-she was strapped to a chair, and she looked just like me in so many ways. ‘It was a dousey finding her!’ he said. ‘My boys had some fun with her, but I think you can put the icing on the cake for me.’

“It was then that I noticed the bruises on her, the way the blood concentrated around her inner thigh. I could see those men forcing themselves into her, beating her senseless. I bet she wanted me to take her life so she could be free from that memory.”

It was then that she really started to sob; her tears were real. “I took the knife Jim gave me. He watched me with these malicious eyes, and he licked his lips as I tore open her flesh. He wanted to see it messy, and that sick bastard practically jumped for joy when her muscles where exposed. She bled out quickly. All the while she was staring at me, even as she held back tears and as she chocked on her gag.

“I saw terrible things in that hideout, Mister Holmes. I saw children being beaten senseless by laughing psychopaths. I saw people being strapped to beds and forced to endure the desires of sick pedophiles. Once, I made a mess out of a murder scene. I got the blood everywhere when Jim wanted it cleaner, and that very day he took me up into his hotel room and… well, he and his boyfriend Moran forced my legs apart and strapped me to the bed posts... I saw people having their fingernails removed, their hair ripped from their scalps, and their flesh being burned off with irons just so Jim could keep them quiet and keep their money.”

Mycroft leaned in closer to her. “All of that can stop if you tell me where he is.”

She took a deep breath. “The last place I knew of him being was at his safe house here in London. It’s actually a few blocks away from parliament.” She whispered the address to him.

“Thank you, Mary,” he whispered back.

“Am I really going to die?” she asked when he stood up.

“Killing you wouldn’t be-“

“You tell whoever is going to give you trouble about it that I said it was the right thing to do. You show them the recording of this session. You show them your list.”

“I could negotiate a prison cell for you that wouldn’t be-“

“Mister Holmes,” she said. “John doesn’t want anything to do with me. You don’t have to be nice to me for his or Sherlock’s sake.”

He looked at her for a moment. “I have one of my men standing by. I’ve been given the permission to give the order at anytime, but it must before you lose sight of the building.”

“How are you going to explain my death to all of those watching?”

“You will be escorted out through the back route.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Mister Holmes. Really.”

~

When I saw John step out of his cab, I ran down the stairs to meet him.

“He’s here!” I called in Mrs. Hudson’s direction. I heard an “Oh dear” and the clatter of dishes come from her flat.

John opened the door with his bags in tow, and I was struck with how awful he looked. He had seemingly aged twenty years since I had seen him last. His eyes were still red and puffy. Salt streaks ran down his cheeks. His nose was swollen with mucus, and he sniffed as soon as he entered the foyer.

He looked at me, and as soon as he did, his face contorted in emotional anguish. He slammed the front door and threw his bags against the wall before rushing forward and wrapping his arms around me. I pulled him into a tight embrace as he buried his face in my shoulder.  I ran my hand back and forth over the center of his back.

“How could she?” he whispered. “How could she lie to me like that?”

“John,” I began. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t deserve this.”

I heard Mrs. Hudson open the door to her flat. She seemed to have decided the right thing to do was leave us in peace, for the door closed only a few seconds afterward.

I stood there and held him as John started to shake with each sob. In that moment, I no longer felt like the world’s-only-consulting-detective, nor did I feel like the face on the tabloids, nor did I feel like the man who had undergone great trial to dismantle a criminal network. I was simply a man who wondered how in the hell his life and the lives of those he cherished became so fucked up.

He eventually withdrew from me, grabbed his bags, and said, “I need to be alone. I’ll be in my room.”

“Okay,” I replied with a cracking voice. “Do you need me to help you to-“

“I can handle it, Sherlock.”

I nodded and pressed my lips into a thin line. The only sound that filled the empty void of 221B Baker Street was the sound of John’s suitcase thumping against each of the seventeen steps.

~

I knocked on his bedroom door. I had expected him to retreat up here, but I was not expecting him to be this quiet.

“Hey,” I called. “I brought you some take-out!”

No reply.

“It’s Thai- your favorite.”

Still no answer.

“Well, it’s right here on the step if you want it. I mean, I’d eat it while it’s still hot, but you know…” I trailed off. I was not making things any better, so I decided that shutting up would probably be in John’s best interest.

I set the white box on the top stair and slowly made my way back down to the living room. I heard the door quickly open and shut as soon as my feet touched the last stair.

~

The whistle of a tea kettle.  The clatter of a mug. The distinct sound of John’s voice.

I threw the sheets off of my body, swung my legs off of the mattress, and sat up. My ears strained to pick up any more sounds of life coming from the kitchen: John was most certainly moaning.

I found him in his pajamas, caressing his left hand (which was stinging-pink from what was obviously a burn), and standing next to the shattered remains of his favorite cup. His hair was a disheveled mess; his eyes were fixed upon some unknown place in the distance; his chin was beginning to look like a field of scraggly, little, hairs.

“It’s fine,” he said in a low tone, referring to his hand.

I walked forward and took his left arm so I could examine it better. “I’m getting the first-aid kit.”

“Sherlock…”

I opened the cabinet under the sink. “Don’t start being ridiculous John.” I pulled out the first-aid kit along with the dust pan and hand-held broom. “Look at it. It needs to be treated.”

He said nothing while I opened the metal, white box and pulled out the salve.

“You know, you can be just as stubborn as I am sometimes.” I gently rubbed salve over the burn. He twitched slightly due its alcoholic content, but soon the tension in his arm eased as the cooling effect took over his skin. “And like me, you tend to shut yourself away. You can be just as repressed as I am.”

 I took another look at burn, holding his arm out before me so I could make sure I covered all of his blistering skin. “So, I think it’s time I showed you the consideration that you have given to me.” I let go of his arm. It quickly fell to John’s side. I turned the red-capped nozzle on the nearby faucet and cleaned my hands of the medicine. John kept his eyes on the floor.

I tore off a paper towel from the roll. “I, as a person who loves you deeply, would like to help you through this. I promised I would help you deal with this.”  I finished drying my hands and threw the wet paper towel in the bin. I was about to go to work cleaning up the red pieces of glass when John spoke again.

“I couldn’t sleep. I had too much on my mind. A few moments ago I got a text from Mycroft, telling me my wife had ‘an unfortunate encounter with some hooligans in a back alley.’ I knew what he really meant. I decided to come down here and make some tea, and then this happened.”

I put one hand on his shoulder.

“I cannot believe that woman, Sherlock. I-I had made a vow to that child that I was going to be a better father than mine was. I promised her I wasn’t going to come home drunk. I wasn’t going to drive her into hiding under her bed…” He sniffled. “I wanted her to look just like Mary. We- we were even going to name her Sherlie, after you.”

“Hey,” I said. “You would have made an excellent father.”

“That may be so, but I allowed my wife to be killed for lying to me. Doesn’t that still make me a bad man?”

“No, of course not. You did what had to be done, not just for yourself, but for a great number of people. That doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

I looked at the mess on the floor and then back at him. “How about you sleep in my room tonight? Don’t get any ideas. I just thought that maybe you wouldn’t want to spend tonight alone, that’s all. I’ll clean this up, and then I’ll come and join you.”

“O-okay.”


	11. I Was a Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the final chapter. But, Greg Lestrade is going to get some time to shine! And there's a lot of fluff, so I think you all will like it.  
> I do not own BBC Sherlock.  
> Enjoy.

I made haste in disposing of the broken mug. It took several sweeps of the small hand-held brush in order to get all of the fragments and that pesky glass dust, since all of the additional dirt kept sneaking its way underneath the dust pan and forming a line of filth on the tiles as soon as I lifted the damn pan away from the floor. It normally would not have made much difference to me whether or not the crumbs on the floor were visible in such a way. But since I knew John would be furious if he noticed the kitchen in any more disarray, and since some of the glass could still have made its way into the line of dirt and could still have been hazardous to our bare feet, I got down on all fours and put a great deal of concentration into rendering every possible glass shard obsolete. I knew John liked to walk around bare-footed as much as I did, and neither of us where in any position to be hurt… at least, more than we were.

The glass hit the bottom of the trash bin with a loud _clank!_ I beat the pan against the sides of the bin, careful not to disturb John’s thoughts. I wanted to avoid having to flick any extra particles off of its surface with my own hand. I restored the dust pan and the broom back to their rightful place under the sink, and then I sighed in a combination of relief and anxious anticipation.

I had come to realize, whether it was as I crossed over the threshold of my bedroom, cleaned up the mess, or even earlier that day, that I was completely at a loss for helping John out of this dilemma, especially since I could barely help myself without his presence. John was a big boy. There was no denying that. However, I do believe it was my instinct that kept propelling me forward in wanting to protect the man- pure, human instinct. I wanted to protect the one that I loved, a resolve that had no doubt strengthened in me since I met him.

A shiver racked my body and I looked down at John’s form beneath the sheets, a reminder of the events of a few days prior, which seemed like such a lifetime away. I had to try harder. I had to start looking at things from his point-of-view.

I had to care for him as he cared for me. I knew my words and my orgasms were not going to suffice any longer. I needed to provide more nights such as this one. I needed to be tender for a change.

I must have been looming over John for quite some time, because right when I was engaging myself in my own thoughts, he turned over, looked at me with this perplexed expression and said, “Aren’t you going to hop in? You’re making me nervous.”

“Oh, um, sorry.”

I walked over to the empty side of the bed and climbed beneath the sheets. John rolled over onto his stomach and cocked his head, his eyes remaining focused on me. We remained like that for a moment before I finally asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “I’m just… just watching you.”

I looked away for a moment the back at him, the cogs in my brain churning in attempt to gain control over this domestic situation. “Are we moving too fast?”

He propped himself up on his elbows. My eyes distinguished his exasperated expression in the darkness. “Well, we could do to slow down. I mean, things with Mary and Moriarty were going to have to go at that pace anyway, but we have the ability to at least proceed with our new relationship in the right manner. “

“I don’t see why we can’t. I do think I myself would enjoy savoring what we have obtained over these few days.” I reflected on my statement for a few seconds before correcting it. “Well, over these few years, if I’m willing to be honest.”

John hung his head and smiled. I always loved how he looked so embarrassed every time I made him smile, as if he felt so sheepishly about smiling for me.  And when he did hang his head, his cheeks turned this pinkish hue, and then the skin right above his neck would fold, and I wanted to just pinch it. It was cute, even cuter than that Pinocchio nose of his. I felt drawn towards him. I moved over and snuggled up against his right arm.

“Is this too much?” I asked.

“No. This is fine.”

I craned my neck and kissed his cheek. “Is this too much?”

“Of course not.”

I smiled in my satisfaction and returned my head to its place against his arm. Within seconds, John nuzzled that very nose into my hair.

“You have me. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice muffled because of my curls. “Your hair smells amazing.”

“I know. I have categorized about thirty different brand names of shampoos and have labeled them according to price, effectiveness, and product variety, and yes, smell. I have always chosen the most expensive bottle I can get my hands on at any time, it would seem.”

He removed his face from my hair. “You get really bored when no one’s here, don’t you?”

I laughed. “Don’t pretend to be surprised. It’s not very becoming of you.”

“I’m not surprised. I have come to expect that of you. I have always wondered what other sort of random trivia you have stored away up there.”

I thought upon that for a moment, wondering what I could spring on John. I did want him to be just a little surprised, after all. “Would you be surprised if I could give the scientific names of over one hundred species of flowers?”

“Not really.”

My brow furrowed in thought. “What if I told you that I can recite the digits of pi out to the thousandth place?”

“Impressive, but not really all that eyebrow raising.”

“Hmph. Oh- what if I told you that I really do know what goes around what in our solar system? Even the names of the moons of Neptune?”

He gave me a light slap across my cheek. “You’re kidding me.”

“I had to get my knowledge of the Van Buren supernova from somewhere. Okay, I’ll admit that I did finally take time to study the solar system after you brought it up.”

He laughed, but then hung his head once more. I let go of his arm and rolled over onto my back so I could see his eyes. The darkness that filled his eyes began to fill the room and the space between us again.

“What’s on your mind, John? Tell me. I can help you. I promise. I will.”

“I was thinking about giving Mary a proper funeral. She was my wife, after all.”

“Of course.”

“And, I was wondering what all I am going to do. I told Mycroft that I would go and visit the morgue in the morning, and then we both would take it from there. He promised to cover the expenses, and I bet you’re glad about that. I keep telling myself that it was necessary for security- for both the nation and for us, but this whole ordeal feels… bittersweet. Like I got what I wanted, but I gave up a lot.”

I stroked his cheek. “John, you didn’t give up anything. What you gave up was essentially stolen from you.”

He looked at me, tears in his eyes, begging me to continue, as if the truth flowing from my lips was going to be the one thing that could possibly allow him to drag himself through the rest of this damned week. The sight of him like that…Oh, I can’t possibly think of it again. He was my soldier. He was the warm, loveable, rock. And all his life he had been given hell. We both had been given hell.

“John, you have to think about things in long-term. I know that Mycroft has no doubt assembled a team to eradicate whatever traces of Moriarty can be found using the information Mary gave them. John, terrible things have happened to you. Your wife fooled us all and faked a fucking pregnancy just to avoid being taken out and interrogated.

“Her death was the only way you two were going to get piece, and I will tell you why, John. Would you want to see that woman rotting in a cell for the rest of her life?”

“N-No, I wouldn’t,” he replied, his voice thick, as though his words stuck to the back of his throat.

“Would you rather hear that Mary was captured by her old bosses and beaten, raped, cut, and even burned to death?”

“No! Okay?! I would not have wanted that for her!” John was sitting up now, as was I, though he was on the verge of sobbing. “Mary Morstan was good enough! I told her that! I told her that it would be okay, and then… all of this happened. I thought we could have had a beautiful life together. I had no idea of what it would do to you, or that even Mary Morstan itself was a lie. There I said it. I’m a fucking idiot.”

I shook my head. “No. You are not an idiot. I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself that ever again. I may call you that sometimes. I know. And I am a fool for doing that. But you are the most fascinating and brilliant people that I have ever met. No, the most fascinating and brilliant people I have ever met. You know why? Because in situations like this, you always take the high road. You are always the better man. This is where you will always triumph over even my intellect, because I cannot understand how you can have such a capacity to forgive.

“A woman that you married did so to keep her criminal owners happy, and she eventually grew to love you, despite having no real courage to tell you about her pregnancy belt, even when she handed you every detail about her career as a criminal in this very flat. I can even add to this whole thing. My brother and I both put you through hell for years. He tried to do whatever he could to keep you at least physically alive while I tried to take down a network that is apparently still in existence. I made you believe that I was dead because I had gotten us both into that mess. You’ve always been the one who had to take all of the negative effects.

“I meant everything that I said in my best man speech. Despite everything, you will always be the one that saves lives, as you have saved countless others, and especially as you have saved mine.”

John kept his gaze trained on me, his shoulders bouncing up and down with each deep breath. He had pressed his lips in an attempt to keep them from quivering, a learned mechanism, like and unlike my own.

“So,” I said. “Please, stop beating yourself up over this whole situation. Yes, in every sense of the word, it is unfair to you to have to go through any of this. But I am here for you.” I paused, thinking back to the events of two days ago. “I- I cannot stress that to you enough.” That statement echoed between us the same way it had when John himself had said it to me.

He nodded, looking away. “I know. And I thank you, Sherlock. For everything.”

I laid back. “I may be new to this act of expression, but I guess I did an adequate enough job, eh?”

John rested his head against his pillow as well and relaxed. “I don’t think it was very surprising. Coming from you, it means the world to me, and it was surely one of the greatest things I have ever heard someone say to me, aside from your best man’s speech. But you still excel at loving me as you do everything else.”

_You’ve finally redeemed yourself. Great job. Now, prepare to put all of your focus on what lies ahead._

“We will deal with all of this in the morning,” I said. “I will go with you to the morgue, if you would like.”

“I wouldn’t dare going there without you.”

“Good.” I leant forward and kissed his forehead. “Let’s get some rest.”

John muttered something that I couldn’t quite make out, and before I could even begin to decipher what he said (I was not about to ask him to repeat himself), he was snoring. 

I turned over onto my back carefully as to not awaken him, though I doubted I would; his exhaustion had finally taken over.  As I stared at the ceiling, soaking up the bittersweet atmosphere that John had been referring to, I wondered what Mycroft was doing in terms of Moriarty, what sort of demons might enter John’s dreams that night, how Mrs. Hudson was going to react when John finally confessed to her his reasons for living with me again, and what I would tell Greg when John and I finally felt up to taking cases for the Yard again (even if Mycroft had probably already taken care of informing him of everything).

~

I waited impatiently as the synthetic buzz of Greg Lestrade’s mobile hit my ears. We were about to leave for the morgue when John decided it was best to inform Mrs. Hudson of our current trials. He was downstairs in her flat when I decided it would be a good idea to phone Greg and enlist in his assistance as well.

“Sherlock? What’s going on?” I found relief in his frantic, worried voice.

“Graham, why do you always assume the worst when I call you?” I said, my voice low, wary that he was likely well-aware of what had and what was about to transpire.

“I know about Mary. Your brother called right when Molly received her body. He… Mycroft told me everything.”

 _Just as I had suspected._ “So you know why I need your help.”

He sighed through his nose a low, sympathetic, yet remorseful huff. “What do you need?”

“When the funeral is over, I want you to take John out. You know, to the bars. Make sure he doesn’t get too wasted.” I paused. “You both could use a drinking buddy,” I said, though there was neither sarcasm nor any other motives behind my statement.

I could essentially feel him nodding through the way he answered me. “If that’s what you think is best for the mate.”

“Thank you… Greg.

“Oh, and before you hang up, do you mind if I ask you something?”

He remained silent for a few seconds. “What is it, mate?”

“Do you- do you ever look at yourself and wonder how you got to where you are today? Do you think that you could be happier or more upset if you had decided to make a different choice at one instance in your life?”

“Sherlock, you already know the answer to that.”

“I want to hear it from you. Is that too much trouble?”

He sighed again. “No. No, it isn’t. I’ll tell you about the very instance in which I made a decision that altered my life forever, Sherlock.

“I had just been promoted. I had arrived at a crime scene at two o’clock in the bloody morning after pulling two shifts due to a triple homicide that had the Yard completely stumped. Naturally, the Yard expected me to be able to pull it off, since I really was the brightest go-getting detective before you came along. Anyway, the long hours were putting a strain on me and my wife, so that certainly did not help with my exhaustion.

“I was about to cross underneath the yellow crime scene tape when some young bum shows up, takes one look at the entire scene, walks up to me, and starts telling me how to do my job. It doesn’t take a genius to know when a person is high, and believe me; this guy was high as a kite.”

I bit my lip, having gathered right when he began telling this story what he was going to say. “Greg, please…”

“And even though all of the voices in my head were telling me that I should not jeopardize all that I had worked so hard for, I decided that I would give in to this guy’s demands, and I let him into the crime scene. Of course, he had proven himself when he had figure out about my promotion, the problems with my wife, that I had drank three cups of coffee in the last hour, and just about everything in my personal life over the course of the past three weeks.

“I saw him glide through all of the evidence like it was elementary stuff. I watched in awe as he explained how it had been the ex boyfriend all along, stringing up distant exes from his ex girlfriend’s university days and was slowly moving along to killing the others after university and after him. That man had saved five additional men from being killed.

“He left me his card, a shabby piece of paper, mind you. And I contacted him after I had filed all of the paperwork.  I told him I would continue to give him cases as long as he stayed off of narcotics.

“Sure, he, his best friend, and even his brother have contributed greatly to the silver hairs upon my head. And yes, I’ve had to bail his sorry ass out of nasty situations so many times that it’s become part of my routine. And I’m not ashamed to say that I talked to his headstone a few times myself. But I told his best friend on the day he moved in with him that this guy was a great man, and that one day we might be lucky enough to see him become a good one. I actually lived to realize that he had been a good man all along, I just wasn’t observant enough to see it.

“Yes, Sherlock, being your friend has caused me a lot of grief and headache. But despite all of the shit that I have had to go through with you, I would not trade my memories with you for anything. I came to realize that after I thought we had lost you. I don’t think I could be where I am today if I had not let you come into my life, Sherlock. And to be honest, I don’t want to think about what could or could have been, because I have learned, being in the business that I am in, that it’s always better for you to focus on what you have been presented with, and not on what could have been.”

I small smile spread on my lips as John appeared before me. “Thank you,” I said solemnly. “For everything.”

“…You too.”

Both mobiles clicked off at the same time.

~

**Two weeks after the funeral of A.G.R.A. (also known as Mary Morstan Watson)**

~

It was a quiet evening in the flat of 221B Baker Street. Small licks of flame cackled in the fireplace, filling the room with their light and warmth. Two cups of John’s superb tea sat half-empty on the tea table. We had just solved a case regarding the theft of one of the prehistoric skulls in the Royal Museum, and we had taken to our normal places on a night such as that one. John was in his chair, perfecting the draft of his latest blog post. I was at the window, my violin in hand, thinking about what on earth I wanted to play.

I looked back at John. He seemed so… natural… perfect as he sat in his chair, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. That damned nose, that tiny fold of skin that appeared just above blow his chin, that fading yet undeniably evident tan, and those grey highlights in that pool of light, sandy yellow… He was perfect.

I set my violin back in its case and hurried to my bedroom to grab my miniature, standard stereo. John looked at me with a wayward glance but then shook his head casually. He must have thought it was just a part of my normal antics, and in a way, it was. But it was also so much more.

I set it on the desk right between the two windows. Now, john was especially curious.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking almost annoyed as his eyes peeked up over the top rim of his laptop. I said nothing. I just hooked my mobile up to the speakers, opened up my recordings, and selected the file entitled “For John”, careful not to select “Dr. and Mrs. Watson.”

As the music started playing, I walked over to him, removed his laptop from his lap, set it aside, and held my hand out as in invitation to dance. He smiled and took it gladly.

I lead us, of course. He kept his hands on my waist and his eyes fixed upon mine. Both of my hands were on his shoulders. The light from the fireplace created a shadow of our intermingling bodies on the ceiling.

As the song came to a close, I grabbed John and lowered him in the same fashion as he did with Mary on their wedding night. He erupted into giggles when he realized the position he had found himself in. I laughed and leant forward and kissed him.

With our lips as connected as we both knew our hearts were, I felt like I truly had found the heaven that I had not even thought that I was looking for. For once, I could give someone all of my love because I felt like I actually deserved to receive their love in return. For once, I saw what John saw when he looked at me. A person with feelings, not a robot. A person with actual genius, not a man trying to soak up the attention of the media. A person who was brutally honest to him, not a woman who lied to try to have something of a normal life with proper love.

I saw what John saw when he looked at me.

A person who loved him unconditionally, not a beast who was trying to take everything that was good away from him.

THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story. It means a lot to me that you guys kept reading it. It warms my heart, to be honest. And I enjoyed writing it to, so I guess it was a win-win situation for everyone involved? Perhaps?  
> I hope you enjoyed the finale.  
> And have a lovely day.  
> -WeWillForeverBeYoung


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